At the time of publishing this column, I’m at the European Film Festival Palić in northern Serbia, where I’m part of the festival’s PR team. Since the next five days will be quite busy, I prepared this piece—and the next one—a few days in advance. After several days at the festival and three days of camping on the Croatian coast, I’ve settled back into my usual routine: listening to a mix of new and old albums.

The first thing waiting for me was the album I’d been most excited about: Omni by the James Brandon Lewis Quartet. I first got into JBL when Divine Travels came out with William Parker and Gerald Cleaver—naturally, it was that rhythm section that “pushed” me to check out a musician I knew nothing about at the time. I was instantly hooked and started following everything he released. At the same time, I knew he wouldn’t always have such heavyweights behind him, and that over time he would shape a band—or bands—of his own, something more distinctly his. There have been several lineups along the way, but the one with Aruán Ortiz on piano, Brad Jones on bass, and Chad Taylor on drums feels, to me, like the definitive version.

I’ve written before that JBL might be the only contemporary saxophonist who has truly revived the spirit of Coltrane—not in terms of style or specific phrases, but in that deeper, spiritual dimension that comes from constant searching and pushing forward. It’s there in the long, intricate lines that seem to flow effortlessly from his instrument, rising toward something almost celestial.

He’s such a commanding player that he naturally dominates the sound wherever he appears. And yet, he’s also a remarkably humble musician—someone who clearly values and respects his collaborators, and who understands that the music always comes first. In this lineup, everything feels organic and fluid: at times complex, at times striking you directly, whether through free jazz, playful compositions, or blues-inflected passages.

I’ve loved every album by this quartet, and Omni, released on Intakt, is no exception. It sounds both familiar and new—fresh in the way only a truly cohesive band can be. You can hear what happens when a group fully locks in, when master musicians surrender to something greater than themselves. If you want to call that a higher force—even a divine one—I wouldn’t argue.

I’ve been following news of the new album by legendary Norwegian trumpeter and innovator Nils Petter Molvær for quite a while. He played a key role in shaping the aesthetics of creative electronic jazz from the 1990s to the present day. His new album, Be Quiet (Edition Records), was finally released a few days ago and has already found a steady place in my rotation. It’s a beautiful example of minimalism and intimacy: Molvær works in a duo format, collaborating with a different musician on each track, with recordings made in various locations around the world. On paper, that might sound like a scattered concept, almost like a compilation. In practice, it’s the opposite—the album feels strikingly cohesive, held together by Molvær’s unmistakable sound and a carefully curated set of collaborators, chosen with intention rather than for any superficial “all-star” appeal. For me, his music thrives in exactly this kind of stripped-down setting.

As I write this, I’ve put on headphones to listen to “Desolation Row,” a track by David Maranha (electric organ) and Rodrigo Amado (tenor saxophone), from their upcoming album due out on August 7. I’ve long been aware of Amado’s work and consider him one of Europe’s finest free jazz saxophonists, though I’ve followed his discography somewhat sporadically—there’s always too much in the queue. This album kept popping up on my social feeds, so I finally decided to give it a proper listen.

At first, the track’s 40-plus-minute duration suggested the logic of a live performance: a slow-building introduction, a single piece unfolding patiently over time, rich keyboard textures over which Amado plays in a melodic, almost exalted manner—gradually building intensity until it becomes fully frenetic. A quick look at the liner notes confirmed it is indeed a live recording. It’s so well produced that you might not even realize it at first, until the applause at the end. I don’t know how many tracks the full album will include, but even this single piece, available on Bandcamp, feels like a complete statement.

Giuseppe Doronzo (baritone sax, Iranian bagpipe) has already been mentioned here as a member of AVA Trio, but he’s active in other contexts as well. His album, Futuro Ancestrale, features Andy Moor (electric guitar) and Frank Rosaly (drums, percussion). They are “infiltrating diverse ancient cultures, charging traditional Ethiopian, Lesotho and Persian music with snarly punkish brio and granular post-rock textures, employing unorthodox approaches to modern instruments and contemporary takes to those from a bygone age,” as the Bandcamp description vividly puts it—and it captures the spirit so well that I’ll leave it at that. One listen in, and I’m intrigued.

Back to the United States: SML are already well established, and there’s little I can add about their latest record “Spontaneous Music Live”. What continues to impress me is their ability to dissolve individual egos. Just when you expect someone to step forward with a wild solo, another player cuts in—then another—yet it never feels disjointed. Instead, it unfolds as a seamless continuum. On the European scene, the closest comparison might be Nik Bärtsch’s Ronin, while at times SML also bring to mind early-2000s Medeski Martin & Wood. As with Jeff Parker’s work, Bryce Gonzales plays a crucial role here, engineering, recording, and mixing everything live in stereo. I love when a record captures the raw energy of a live performance, but I also value clarity and balance in production—and Gonzales delivers both with precision.

Jazz Across Europe

This week’s top recommendation is Jazzwerkstatt Peitz in Germany, this year’s winner of the Deutscher Jazzpreis for Festival of the Year. The lineup includes Aki Takase, Maria Portugal in different configurations, Darius Jones & Otomo Yoshihide, and many others. I haven’t experienced it firsthand, but from the footage I’ve seen and the settings it uses, the festival looks genuinely compelling—paired, of course, with a strong program. It takes place a week before Jazzfestival Saalfelden, which typically draws a lot of attention from fans of contemporary and avant-garde jazz, so timing-wise it has effectively “dodged a bullet” by avoiding overlap. This year’s dates are August 14–16, and the full program is available here.

Tord Gustavsen is probably the musician I’ve seen most often from the “ECM family.” That, of course, has to do with the quality of his music, but also with the fact that both my partner Monika and I love it—she’s the one I usually travel with to concerts and festivals. If we see that Tord is playing somewhere nearby, the choice is easy. Over the past three years, we haven’t even had to travel far: he performed three times in neighboring Romania and once in Pančevo, the town where we live. Each time in a different formation: as a classic trio, in a duo with drummer Jarle Vespestad, solo, and finally as a duo with saxophonist Trygve Seim.

The venue Fikl Art Stage in the village of Socolari was particularly interesting—we visited it for the first time last year. It is an estate run by the Romanian painter Gheorghe Fikl. Once a mining site, later an agricultural area, Socolari has come back to life over the past twenty years thanks to creatives who bought old stone village houses and turned them into studios, ateliers, and galleries. Fikl himself went a step further, merging several properties into a complex that now includes multiple gallery spaces and two concert stages, right at the edge of the village where the dark mountain forest begins. Among other things, Fikl has a passion for organizing jazz concerts, so last year the pianist Jacky Terrasson performed here, as did the Tord Gustavsen Trio.

The atmosphere on the estate itself is idyllic: chairs, sofas, and tables are casually arranged near the concert space; local dogs wander around; a small forest stream runs through the middle of the grounds. The stage is made of stone and wood. On Monday evening it was even chilly despite the July date—I later joked that it was so we could better feel the Norwegian sensibility and the atmosphere of the music performed by Gustavsen and Seim.

Both musicians are perfect representatives of what we call the ECM sound, and their concert vividly embodied that famous ECM slogan: “The most beautiful sound next to silence.” Tord Gustavsen has developed a completely authentic personal style within this sensibility—at the crossroads of Norwegian traditional music, classical music (with a particular emphasis on Bach), and minimalism, and the music we perceive as atmospheric Scandinavian jazz beyond bop patterns.

Modest and humble, he creates music that on a higher level radiates an energy akin to gospel, though shaped by a different culture and musical tradition. On this occasion he was joined by Trygve Seim, a seasoned ECM artist whom one could most simply describe as a follower of Jan Garbarek’s style—and in that sense, a perfect match for Tord’s music.

That is, for the music Gustavsen performs and arranges. The repertoire for this new duo is primarily based on Bach’s music, often devoted to Jesus Christ, which Gustavsen has previously performed in a trio format. All this does not mean that the Norwegian pianist has turned to classical music, but rather that he has aligned the repertoire of one of the greatest composers of all time with his own arranging and performance style.

If you approach this music with an open mind and heart, you won’t even notice much difference between Scandinavian traditionals, new original compositions, and Bach—they all merge into an original jazz expression. Quiet, delicate, humble before a higher force, and deeply respectful of the audience, whom it invites to experience that rarely attainable sense of elevation: the feeling that, for at least an hour, we have entered another dimension beyond everyday trivialities, worries, and obligations. Not a dimension of escapism, but one of deep immersion into the essence of our being, with music as the medium.

The moment the two musicians begin to play, this feeling becomes almost literal. Tord and Trygve do not need to “conquer” the space or “capture” the audience’s attention, because everyone is already fully present. Once they start playing, there is no coughing, no rustling in seats, no whispering. Instead, we hear: the gentle murmur of the stream just behind the stage; the occasional rustle of leaves; perhaps a bird or a distant dog barking. Nature itself. And of course, the piano and the saxophone.

We feel a Nordic freshness, and our senses are fully attuned to absorb every sound of the instruments. Tord Gustavsen is a master of communicating with silence, aware that every note exists in relation to it, to the flow of time, to the air. Silence prepares us to perceive each note as essential. There are no empty melodies or solos that merely fill space between climaxes; every touch of the keys matters. So does every inhale or exhale of Seim before he plays a note, a phrase, or a solo on the saxophone. The way he approaches the instrument; the way he shapes his tone. Highly melodic and lyrical, yet never excessive—just like Tord.

This gradual unfolding in musical narration corresponds to what contemporary pop culture calls a “slow burn.” To truly experience the climax, it is not enough for Gustavsen and Seim to suddenly play loudly; we need to become familiar with their playing, both individually and together. To observe their interaction, how they respond to one another, how they build solos and compositions. And then, once we have absorbed it all—once we understand how they approach both the music and each other—we are ready. One of them raises the volume, the other joins in. As Tord deconstructs melodies and chords, Trygve releases the brakes and cuts through the air, his sharp sound carving into our emotional fabric—full of pathos, emotion, and drama that can bring you to the verge of tears.

When they finally reach the first pause, Tord Gustavsen addresses the audience very quietly—he speaks just as he plays. Yet not without humor and charm: he introduces Seim as “the guru of tantric saxophone,” and perhaps expresses a slight “concern” about how Bach himself might react to these interpretations.

For this occasion, the performance was divided into two sets. In the second, Gheorghe Fikl joined the duo on stage with a large canvas. We were told we would witness painting in real time, accompanied by Gustavsen and Seim. Naturally, this concept shifted some of the focus away from the music itself (I often found myself closing my eyes during the first set), toward anticipation—what would he paint, and how would Fikl fit into this precise, seemingly hermetic musical language of the two Norwegians?

At first I was slightly skeptical, with the feeling that some of the aura and magic of the event had been lost. However, Fikl clearly understood how to approach this interactive performance—with a strong awareness of the sound produced by large painting brushes, and a sense of dramaturgy. The Romanian painter applied his strokes in fragments, approaching the canvas and stage, then retreating out of view, leaving space for the process to unfold gradually and without excessive focus on his work. As if he, too, were “setting a theme” and “playing a solo.” Through thick layers of dark paint, the figure of a dog began to emerge—becoming clearer with each return to the stage.

The performance extended deep into the cool Romanian night and concluded with an encore by the two musicians alone, performing “a Ukrainian lullaby,” as Gustavsen announced. Fittingly and elegantly, they brought this musical and artistic evening to a close.

The most beautiful sound next to silence, indeed.

Before getting into the concert itself—Ceramic Dog led by the legendary Marc Ribot—it’s worth briefly considering the context and location. Pula is a city in Istria, a Croatian region that has long been perceived as more “left-leaning,” or at least less nationalistic than other parts of the country. The city of Pula itself is also strongly associated with an antifascist tradition.

The Ceramic Dog concert took place on July 4, which also coincides with the former Yugoslav holiday Dan Borca (Day of the Fighter). The date commemorates a 1941 meeting of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia, when the decision to launch an uprising was made. Although the holiday was officially abolished after the breakup of Yugoslavia, antifascist organizations continue to mark it. In his opening remarks, Željko Marković—an indefatigable organizer behind the Jazzbina concert series—did not miss the opportunity to highlight the importance of music and art as spaces of resistance and nonconformism, especially in times like these, when right-wing pressures on culture, fundamental freedoms, and ultimately human lives are growing stronger.

The US Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776, so the concert date carried significance both locally and for the country Marc Ribot comes from—a country where decent people are ashamed of Donald Trump and his rule, and rightly fear the ways in which its democratic spirit is being dismantled and eroded. For someone coming from Serbia, what is happening in the United States feels like a long-familiar déjà vu. Much of what the world now experiences as a shock to common sense through the rise of right-wing and populist politics has, in Serbia, been unfolding since the 1990s—with only a brief pause in the early 2000s, before the democratic prime minister Zoran Đinđić was assassinated by a sniper. In the meantime, the world has, in a sense, “become Serbian.”

So there we are, on the terrace of a venue called Circolo, in the very heart of Pula. The organizer sets the tone with his speech; Marc Ribot walks on stage and greets the audience with the mention of “Dan Borca” in Serbo-Croatian. He begins with a highly distorted, improvised solo version of The Star-Spangled Banner, before being joined by Shahzad Ismaily and Ches Smith. Of course, Hendrix’s iconic Woodstock performance comes to mind—a great guitarist nodding to another. But Ribot is too singular for simple homage; his frayed, seemingly unpolished and deliberately unbalanced playing style becomes a commentary on the anthem itself—a commentary on the United States today.

Croatian journalist Zoran Stajčić from the website Ravno do dna put it perfectly, so there’s no need to reinvent the wheel: “One of the most important guitarists of resistance in today’s world left his mark by gradually suffocating and silencing the distorted echoes of his version of the anthem. As if that familiar melody were fading, melting, and disappearing in his hands. It was precisely the silence within its patterns that felt ominous, like something erasing the very paragraphs of the most famous Constitution Americans have been proud of for 250 years.”

The distorted solo improvisation flowed into “Soldiers in the Army of Love,” which Ribot introduced with verbal—and far more explicit—comments about “political violence dramatically increasing in the United States.” At this point, we were already deep into the concert, yet Ribot still refused to let us simply “enjoy the show.” He was deadly serious in his tirade, pulling us into what he had to say. Only once we had sobered up ourselves could the punk-rock onslaught begin, followed by a sequence of more “conventional” Ceramic Dog pieces familiar to fans of the trio—somewhere between high-energy alternative rock and the restless improvisational spirit of three legendary figures of the New York scene.

At the beginning, a (justified) anger reigned, amplified by noise; at one point, this gave way to a rather extended improvised set in which the band, without any sense of urgency, explored their instruments. It might have seemed—at least on the surface—out of sync with the previously furious, high-energy, punk- and rock-oriented set.

Marc Ribot, as a soloist, is known for his apparent “mistakes” and “slippages” during improvisation—but these are integral to his style and reflect a deeply perceptive way of revitalizing the basic ideas of jazz. Just as an unexperienced listener of jazz music might hear irregular drum accents or saxophone overtones as mistakes, Ribot challenges the seasoned listener—the one who thinks they “know” jazz but gets comfortable with the fixed phrases and stylistic patterns that many jazz musicians fall into. Ribot’s “mistakes” somehow always arrive at exactly the right moment, carrying both musical and conceptual meaning.

On a broader level, the entire performance can be understood in similar terms. Ribot translates his artistic principles into the very structure of the concert. In Pula, he did not follow the logic of a “typical band” building toward expected climaxes. In this „three-act form“, after anger and improvisation came resolution—through the lyrical and deeply moving “Palestine” (Ismaily was wearing a shirt with the same inscription), followed by the tender and emotional “When the World’s on Fire.”

Before the encore, I believe that many expected “Activist,” but that didn’t happen either—instead, the band played “Lies My Body Told Me.”

Back in 1983, the legendary Yugoslav alternative rock band Disciplina Kičme released an album brilliantly titled “Sviđa mi se da ti ne bude prijatno” (“I like it when you’re not comfortable”). Marc Ribot seems to have adopted this general idea as part of his artistic credo, reshaping it through his own complex artistic persona. In a performance where strong political engagement meets catchy, singable rock; where the most delicate, tender vocals can move you to tears, alongside distorted, restless improvisation; where the essence of pop and rock music as entertainment collides with lyrics that evoke humanity’s darkest crimes and the slide of “democratic” Western societies toward fascism.

In these stylistic oscillations and contrasts—hallmarks of Ribot’s entire career—I see a (conceptual) reflection of the broader unease experienced by contemporary “anti-capitalists” and “activists”: the tension of someone who ultimately cannot live outside this world and must make necessary (and sometimes questionable) compromises. Ribot’s slightly bitter but playful body of work both shakes us awake and gently lulls us, pointing to the gap between the dream of a fairer society that always seems out of reach and the small, personal wins and everyday pleasures we actually live with.

As much as I sometimes feel deprived of regular jazz concerts by relevant artists in Serbia, I’m equally grateful that the surrounding region hosts several truly outstanding festivals. One of them is the Jazz Festival Ljubljana, which I’ve visited a few times before, during Bogdan Benigar’s tenure as artistic director—a period marked by a clear affinity for the more avant-garde edges of contemporary jazz.

Today, the festival is curated by Tina Lešničar and Borja Močnik, who are somewhat more open to mainstream jazz stars, as well as younger acts operating at the intersection of jazz with electronic music, hip-hop, or soul—trends that resonate with younger or non-jazz audiences. At the same time, this remains a large-scale festival with a broad stylistic scope, offering something for everyone. My own selection included performances by Cry, Sun-Mi Hong BIDA Orchestra, Aki Takase’s Timeless Ensemble, and the Patricia Brennan Septet.

Cry is one of the projects presented by this year’s Artist-in-Residence, the young Slovenian saxophonist Lenart De Bock. By coincidence, I’ve been following his work for some time—he also plays with Serbian double bassist Miloš Čolović in the excellent trio Soothsayer, and he is part of Rok Zalokar’s Zehltet, whose album I reviewed earlier this year. Although still at the beginning of his recording career, De Bock already displays a clear talent as both a musician and a bandleader.

Cry reminded me most of the Scandinavian group Cortex, whose frenetic playing about fifteen years ago brought a fresh take on 1960s American jazz—particularly that fine intersection of post-bop and early free jazz inspired by Ornette Coleman. Beyond technical skill and a solid grasp of jazz history, what truly matters for a band like this is conviction—something that can’t be measured by formal musical criteria. Watching De Bock, Čolović, trumpeter Tomaž Gajšt, and the seasoned drummer Gerald Cleaver, I had the distinct impression that all four musicians genuinely live this music, rather than merely treating it as one stylistic option among many in the jazz songbook.

The concert took place outdoors, beginning in daylight while Dee Dee Bridgewater was still performing in one of the larger halls of Cankarjev dom. Cry played on the open-air stage in front of the monumental building, in pleasant shade but still during the day, as the audience was just gathering and settling in—one of the earlier time slots. All of this can make it harder to fully concentrate on the music, especially given the mixed seating concept: café-style tables and chairs in the front rows, followed by standard seating, with a bar at the back and a lawn to the side. Naturally, this creates clusters of audience members with varying levels of engagement. Still, Cry navigated these conditions with ease, playing with full energy and enthusiasm. Exactly as it should be.

This was an excellent introduction to the Sun-Mi Hong BIDA Orchestra, which brought together several of my favorite musicians—most notably saxophonist John Dikeman, who has been performing in Serbia for years alongside drummer Aleksandar Škorić, and the brilliant Mette Rasmussen, whose playing injects energy into numerous European jazz and improvised music ensembles. Sun-Mi Hong herself has recently come onto my radar as an outstanding composer and arranger. The lineup also featured Jozef Dumoulin, whose Fender Rhodes I first encountered on Vincent Peirani’s albums, as well as John Edwards on double bass and Alistair Paine on trumpet.

In a conversation several days before the concert, Sun-Mi Hong mentioned that the musicians in BIDA Orchestra are given a great deal of freedom once she establishes the core theme and tone of a piece. In that sense, this is very much a “players’ band,” yet it avoids both the formulaic sequence of solos and the unrestrained looseness typical of classic free jazz. Instead, it moves fluidly between structure, melody, and freedom. With such accomplished and imaginative soloists, and an open framework, it’s inevitable that certain moments—or climaxes—will stand out. For me, one such moment was an incredibly intense solo by Mette Rasmussen that evolved into a kind of collective ecstasy, though there were plenty of memorable highlights from other musicians as well.

The evening continued at Club CD on the sixth floor of Cankarjev dom, requiring a brief transition from the outdoor stage to an indoor space at the opposite end of the building. For those of us who stayed until the end of Sun-Mi Hong’s set—including the author of these lines—it meant missing the first few minutes of Aki Takase’s Timeless Ensemble, featuring Daniel Erdmann on saxophones, Vincent von Schlippenbach (aka DJ IllVibe) on turntables, Tino Ribeiro on double bass, and Dag Magnus Narvesen on drums.

Several elements aligned perfectly for me here: I had long wanted to see Aki Takase live; I’m a great admirer of Daniel Erdmann’s playing; and finally, the presence of a turntablist in an avant-garde jazz setting—still a relatively rare occurrence. It was precisely the interplay between Takase and DJ IllVibe that proved crucial to the band’s aesthetic and live appeal. The contrast and interplay between Takase’s piano—from Ellington- and Monk-rooted foundations to free, unrestrained expression—and Schlippenbach’s highly creative approach to sampling, grounded in a deep understanding of jazz improvisation, was simply brilliant. Particularly striking was a passage where the two exchanged phrases in a kind of call-and-response, as well as a solo DJ piece (I could spot, among others, a Lester Bowie record peeking out of his crate, even from a distance).

After the concert, I found myself wondering whether I had simply been dazzled by this DJ component—something I rarely encounter in this context. Much like how non-jazz listeners might be blown away by a virtuosic saxophone solo that leaves me indifferent, having heard thousands of similar ones. Perhaps that played a role, but I’m quite convinced that DJ IllVibe was an excellent fit for this ensemble.

There was also Takase’s playful onstage narration and a touch of witty conducting. Daniel Erdmann was compelling in his contributions, but this was more of a collective spectacle than a showcase of individual achievements—so it’s only fair to highlight the contributions of Tino Ribeiro and Dag Magnus Narvesen as well. Above all, this was my first live encounter with Aki Takase—a truly charismatic legend who holds the entire history of jazz piano in the palm of her hand, only to turn it upside down and captivate even the most demanding listeners.

The following day, the Patricia Brennan Septet performed on the outdoor stage, presenting material largely based on the album Breaking Stretch, in a slightly modified live lineup featuring Jon Irabagon (alto and sopranino saxophones), Mark Shim (tenor sax), Kalí Rodríguez (trumpet), Kim Cass (double bass), Keisel Jiménez (percussion), and Dan Weiss (drums).

I have to admit it took me some time to connect with this studio material at first—it’s not immediately accessible, even if it might seem so on the surface. In a way, I had a similar experience with both albums by Mary Halvorson’s Amaryllis ensemble, in which Brennan also plays vibraphone. In both cases, we’re dealing with highly composed music, where the core themes are complex and elaborated, and where arrangements take precedence over individual improvisation. I’ve seen both groups live, and while there is space for improvisation, there isn’t a strong sense of deconstructing or reconstructing the studio compositions—rather, subtle variations within a carefully arranged framework.

This was one of those performances that won’t be remembered for a “wild solo” or a particular burst of energy, but for its high-level collective musicianship and glimpses of individual skill within a clearly defined musical context. Patricia Brennan is a serious contemporary jazz composer, demanding serious listening—despite her cheerful and engaging stage presence, where she speaks about her fascination with mathematics or her identity shaped between life in Mexico and the United States. In that sense, I found myself missing a slightly stronger leap into the unknown, but this was nevertheless a highly competent performance by one of today’s leading jazz musicians.

As is usually the case with selections like this, it’s important to start with a disclaimer: this does not pretend to be a list of the “best” jazz (and jazz-related) albums released by European musicians in the first six months of 2026. Such a list would only be possible if I were able to listen to some 1,000 or more albums released by jazz musicians across all European jazz scenes.

Instead, albums reach me through highly random channels: I follow a number of labels that match my taste, as well as the social media channels of my favorite musicians; those I haven’t yet encountered, along with their labels, send me emails; PR agents and publicists get in touch, and I’ve been on some mailing lists for quite a while; I see what my friends share on Facebook, or what someone recommends on Substack. Sometimes I hear a great concert at a festival, and then I go looking for the album. And so on.

So, although the jazz I listen to is the result of genuine dedication and love for the music, I cannot by any means claim that my selection is objective. The list will naturally include a few musicians from Serbia, but at the same time I haven’t explored production from, say, the Baltic countries, as I still lack good contacts there and a steady flow of information. Of course, I’m more likely to hear about albums released on ECM Records or ACT Music than those put out by a small independent label from Greece, Slovakia, or Belgium.

Even if I managed to listen to everything, there would still be the question of “criteria” when evaluating a scene full of outstanding, technically superb musicians. Since everyone plays brilliantly anyway, we’re left assessing “creativity,” which by its very nature brings us into the realm of personal preferences, experience, mood, and who knows what else.

And now, let’s get to the point. We all love lists. As the first six months of 2026 have passed, it feels like a good moment for a first recap. The selected 25 albums are listed alphabetically, without suggesting that any is “better” than another. These are simply the albums I’ve listened to the most, in line with my affinities and mood—in other words, the ones that have sparked the most exciting emotional and intellectual responses in me.

But before that, a few albums from 2025.

As often happens, when a new year begins you realize how much you’ve missed; some excellent releases from the previous year surface that you didn’t manage to register at the time.

Macedonian PMG Jazz released the excellent album “Inward” by violinist Gligor Kondovski and trombonist Vladan Drobicki, which reminded me of certain Punkt Editions productions associated with Jan Bang and Erik Honoré. Slovenia’s Rok Zalokar Zhlehtet released “Pieces for Collective Change” for Jazz Cerkno Records, bringing a breath of fresh air into contemporary spiritual jazz. I’ve been fond of the Finnish band Uusi Aika since their self-titled debut, and in 2025 they released the album Luurankolauluja for Puro Recordings.

Hungary’s BMC had two excellent releases: Ensemble Ensemble – Live at Atelier du Plateau, as well as “Simple Fall” by the duo Vincent Courtois & Collin Vallon. AVA Trio released the album LUNÆ, which I recently discussed with the band’s double bassist Esat Erkincioglu. I also paid special attention to Sun Mi Hong, who released the excellent album “Fourth Page: Meaning of a Nest” for Edition Records (read the interview with her here), as well as trumpeter Richard Koch, who impressed me at jazzahead! with his project “Rays of Light”.

My Favorite European Jazz Albums of 2026

Andras Des - Decisions We Make (BMC Records)

„Broadly speaking, this is a contemporary jazz album. What I find particularly interesting is that even after three or four listens, I still haven’t fully retained specific tracks or themes—I don’t get that immediate “aha, this is my favorite tune” or “that was an amazing solo” moment. And yet, I keep coming back to it. It feels more like a complex novel—with an introduction, development, multiple narrative strands, and an epilogue—than a collection of short stories, if we were to draw a comparison with literature. Or, in Netflix terms, this is a slow burn album. With a bit of patience, it reveals music that is emotionally accessible, yet layered and dramaturgically engaging“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #9: Listening Around Jazz

Angelika Niescier - Chicago Tapes (Intakt Records)

„Angelika Niescier is a saxophonist whose work I’ve been following for a long time, and this time she has a new album Chicago Tapes for Intakt Records featuring some of my favorite Chicago musicians (Jason Adasiewicz, Dave Rempis, Nicole Mitchell, Mike Reed, Luke Stewart). At first listen – very furious and explosive!“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #2: The Reference Trap

Björn Meyer – Convergence (ECM Records)

„Meyer does not emphasize the expanded range (of his six-string bass) for its own sake; rather, he plays in what might be described as a universal guitar idiom. The bass tones lend warmth and a distinct sensibility to his music, but the essential values of the compositions are universal. In the album’s strongest moments, one could almost imagine listening to études from a classical guitar method book.“

Extract from: Björn Meyer – Convergence (ECM Records)

Clément Janinet | Arve Henriksen | Ambre Vuillermoz | Robert Lucaciu - Garden of Silences (BMC Records)

„…Clément Janinet excels in blending all these ingredients (jazz structure, composition, arrangements). Yes, there are „jazz moments“, composed sections, beautiful melodies, and delicate improvisations, but at no point can I clearly separate them while listening. From the very first bars of the compositions, there is a sense of “flowing over” and an imperceptible interweaving of these ideas and elements“.

Extract from: Clément Janinet | Arve Henriksen | Ambre Vuillermoz | Robert Lucaciu - Garden of Silences (BMC Records)

Daniel Erdmann’s Thérapie de Couple - I Wanna Hold Your Hand, François (BMC Records)

„Does this combination—on the one hand complex, on the other deeply emotional music—consciously evoke the intricate relationships of couples in therapy, as the album title suggests? A situation that is anything but black and white, instead winding through a web of emotions, thoughts, relationships, passions, and intellectual clashes? If Erdmann intended to convey this complexity—human, historical, and beyond—through the music on this album, he has, at least for me, completely succeeded.“

Extract from: Daniel Erdmann’s Thérapie de Couple - I Wanna Hold Your Hand, François (BMC Records)

Evi Filippou and Robert Lucaciu - Love at Last Sight (BMC Records)

„Our preparation is to learn the scores and tunes as good as possible and then rediscover them at every gig. Robert always says let the song play, you don’t play the song. And I think that is a lot our approach. There’s a lot of talking about life and art, we listen to a lot of music together, we talk about it, we dream together, we practice sometimes things we will never perform and somehow this is our process.“

Extract from: Evi Filippou: Exploring the Unknown

Freysteinn - Thoughts (Protomaterial)

„…There was a guitar in the foreground, acting as the lead solo instrument, which I really liked. I had no idea who was playing, but I simply let myself go with it. It felt like it wasn’t a “typical jazz guitar,” but rather something with a nice balance between melody and something a bit edgy in a New York Downtown way; the same could be said for the album Thoughts as a whole, which sits comfortably within a “modern creative” vocabulary while allowing for occasional departures off the rails“.

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #13: Freysteinn | Jeff Parker | Tamara Obrovac | HAEZZ | Into the Strings

I’m Not Done Cooking – Tome 1: Beauty and the Queen (Mokuhi Sonorities)

„The octet I’m Not Done Cooking, led by French pianist Lara Humbert, who lives and works in Brussels, is a wonderful example of eclectic music that approaches each of its (possible) genre labels with love, respect, and genuine authorial enthusiasm. The promotional materials mention “elements of pop, classical music, and experimental jazz” as key references, which certainly makes sense—but only as a starting point for exploring the layered and imaginative musical journey offered by this cleverly named octet.“

Extract from: I’m Not Done Cooking – Tome 1: Beauty and the Queen (Mokuhi Sonorities)

Jasmine Myra - Where Light Settles (Gondwana Records)

“Gondwana Records is known for highly melodic releases that carry something of what we call “spiritual jazz,” or simply the warmth and gentleness of indie pop. Myra fits that sensibility well and captivates with the beauty of her core themes and compositions, without unnecessary virtuosity display.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #16: Jasmine Myra | Toša | Red Largo | Tord Gustavsen & Trygve Seim | Punkt Festival

Jasna Jovićević Quinary – Simple Joy (33 Jazz Records)

„If her previous albums drew their strength from a specific fusion of two spiritual worlds—the Euro-American and the Indian—this time the emotional charge and the arranging context of the music are grounded in local tradition and in the encounter of the Balkans, Europe (in a broader sense), and America.“

Extract from: Jasna Jovićević Quinary – Simple Joy (33 Jazz Records)

Joel Lyssarides - Late on Earth (ACT Music)

“His music has been catching my attention for a while now. Lyssarides is a highly virtuosic pianist, which always carries the risk that albums turn into demonstrations of technical superiority. Still, I don’t think he has crossed that line; the compositions and arrangements sound beautiful and coherent—making for a solid mainstream piano trio experience.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #7: Listening Recap and Beyond

Jordan Smart - Above The Street (Atlas Forge Records)

„This is a saxophonist I’ve heard in Vega Trails, Mammal Hands, and Sunda Arc—I like all those bands, and each of them has its own distinct identity. Smart is not a showy saxophonist; he adapts well to the musical context while also bringing his own signature through melodic lines. In this solo setting, the natural associations lean toward minimalistic/ambient/electronic jazz, where Smart once again finds his footing in his introspective musical language.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #15: The Making of a Concert | Mariam Wallentin | Sonic Waves | Jordan Smart | Maria Portugal & Music Unlimited

Julia Hülsmann Octet – While I Was Away (ECM Records)

„There are several aspects of this synthesis that I find particularly compelling: the way the aesthetic of the classic jazz trio fluidly intertwines with the strings; vocals that transcend genres and do not push jazz virtuosity to the forefront, yet enrich with exciting interpretations those pieces dominated by a pop sensibility.“

Extract from: Julia Hülsmann Octet – While I Was Away (ECM Records)

Kiri Ra! – nen (We Jazz Records)

„Kiri Ra! implicitly invite us to slow down and enter the right state of mind—one that allows us to fully experience every sound, every micro-interaction between the musicians; the subtle building and release of dynamics; the shaping of solos through a kind of musical conversation among friends.“

Extract from: Kiri Ra! – nen (We Jazz Records)

Mammal Hands - Circadia (ACT Music)

„The British band Mammal Hands has been on my radar for a while, and I’ve recently started listening more closely to their previous album Gift from the Trees. Their career so far has been mostly tied to Gondwana Records, where their blend of contemporary jazz and modern piano composition fits perfectly; now, for the first time, they’re releasing an album Circadia with ACT Music.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #2: The Reference Trap

Mariam Wallentin & Vestnorsk Jazzensemble - Spring Flood (Hubro Music)

„It both resembles and differs from Fire! Orchestra. Mariam’s vocal is, of course, unmistakable; the music transcends the boundaries of richly orchestrated jazz and (alternative) pop and rock, yet the authorial sensibility is somewhat different—which is perfectly natural and fine. After a few listens, I’m certain I’ll keep returning to this album.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #15: The Making of a Concert | Mariam Wallentin | Sonic Waves | Jordan Smart | Maria Portugal & Music Unlimited

Metropole Orkest - Arakatak (V2 Records)

„Conducted by one of the orchestra’s regular guest conductors, composer and arranger Miho Hazama, the album also features compositions by Vince Mendoza, Donny McCaslin, Tineke Postma, Mark Guiliana, Shai Maestro, and Louis Cole. Although big bands are not regularly on my playlist, this time I decided to break my listening routine—and I did not regret it.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #5: When a Jazz Critic Gets It Wrong

Palle Mikkelborg – Light (Loveland Music)

„Although our first instinct might be to label this format as “experimental,” or more mildly “atmospheric,” it contains something deeper and more fundamental—something closer to human emotional experience than to an intellectual one“.

Extract from: Palle Mikkelborg – Light (Loveland Music)

Red Largo - Hotel Neuf (Madame Vega's Boudoir)

“Red Largo, an international lineup based in Berlin, with their latest record “Hotel Neuf” takes me back to the first decade of the 21st century, when I was deeply into Gutbucket and Electric Masada, AlasNoAxis, Hilmar Jensson, Trevor Dunn’s Trio Convulsant, Zu, and so on. The quartet (…) moves at the intersection of melodic indie, post-rock, and contemporary jazz. It may lean even more toward “alternative” culture, but who cares. It’s great (mostly) instrumental music that I warmly recommend.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #16: Jasmine Myra | Toša | Red Largo | Tord Gustavsen & Trygve Seim | Punkt Festival

Shake Stew – TEN ONE TWO (Traumton Records)

„The focus is on collective playing and fine-grained nuance in arrangements and solos. Within songs that have a clear direction, many interesting things happen on a micro level—from raising and lowering dynamics, to subtle interactions between the horn section and the rhythm section, and ultimately simply good improvisations.“

Extract from: Shake Stew – TEN ONE TWO (Traumton Records)

Nils Wohlrabe / Karin Johansson / Hasse Westling - Sonic Waves (Outerdisk)

„The title reflects the content: sonic structures that depart from conventional jazz logic and venture into the realm of free improvisation, with a strong focus on instrumental texture. Although I’ve listened to many similar albums of varying quality, something here immediately clicked and appealed to me“.

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #15: The Making of a Concert | Mariam Wallentin | Sonic Waves | Jordan Smart | Maria Portugal & Music Unlimited

Szilárd Mezei Octet – Only in Movies (FMR Records)

„His compositions are highly elaborate, sometimes maze-like, yet also full of spirit, wit, and a sense of creation that radiates intelligence and thoughtful design. In that sense, Szilárd Mezei is something of an old-school intellectual… My impression while listening to the current album Only in Movies is that it represents a synthesis of the very best this musician has to offer.“

Extract from: Szilárd Mezei Octet – Only in Movies (FMR Records)

Tamara Obrovac & Transhistria Ensemble – Misečina Bila /White Moonlight (Cantus)

“This is jazz infused with elements of Istrian and Mediterranean folk music, with vocals at the forefront, supported by top-tier, fluid, melodic playing from the band: Uroš Rakovec (guitar, mandola), Fausto Beccalossi (accordion), Žiga Golob (double bass), and Krunoslav Levačić (drums). While all are outstanding individual musicians, what impresses most is how they breathe as one and move within a shared musical idea, placing the songs themselves on a pedestal.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #13: Freysteinn | Jeff Parker | Tamara Obrovac | HAEZZ | Into the Strings

Toša - Opatrně (Carefully) (Ma Records)

“The focus is on beautiful melodies, but within them you also find small “fractures” or slightly dissonant nuances: sometimes a scraping of the bow, or the sound of air escaping through the saxophone, or something along those lines. It’s clear these are musicians who are also comfortable in free music contexts, and that “nerve” surfaces within this small, intimate, home-like music.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #16: Jasmine Myra | Toša | Red Largo | Tord Gustavsen & Trygve Seim | Punkt Festival

Vojta Drnek - Lost Wisdom (Ma Records)

„Drnek’s meditative pieces thus take on a kind of psychedelic quality, almost as if we’ve stepped into a dream world—or somewhere between waking and dreaming. I liked the album, and I’ll be glad if I get the chance to see him perform live somewhere in Europe“.

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer 12: Talking Head(s)

At the moment of publishing this text, Marc Ribot is already well into his new European tour with Ceramic Dog, a trio that also features drummer Ches Smith and bassist Shahzad Ismaily. The final stop on the tour is Pula, Croatia, where they will perform on July 4 at the Circolo venue as part of the Jazzbina concert series. This year alone, the series has already hosted The Tiptons, James Brandon Lewis, and Exterminator ‘81, a project led by Croatian keyboardist Toni Starešinić. Following Ceramic Dog, The Necks trio will appear on September 19. In short—this is serious programming.

After contacting the organizer regarding press accreditation for the concert, I mentioned that I would write an original piece on Marc Ribot ahead of the show, since Eurojazzist doesn’t have a conventional news section for press releases. Over the following weeks, several ideas crossed my mind, the most entertaining being a possible list of Ribot’s 10 or 20 best guitar solos. I’ll definitely return to that idea at some point; however, I felt that such a piece wouldn’t be the most appropriate way to frame a tribute to the Ceramic Dog trio.

OK, let’s start over. We won’t write about Marc Ribot the guitarist. If Ceramic Dog is, to a large extent, a punk-rock trio in which Marc Ribot is the lead singer, perhaps it would be more interesting to reflect on him as a vocalist?

For four decades now, Marc Ribot has been one of the most brilliant guitarists in the world; put him in any band, give him a few tracks and a solo or two, and there’s no way you won’t notice his contribution. In Serbia, he is still most widely appreciated as “Tom Waits’ guitarist,” although there is also a strong circle of fans devoted to the “Zorn universe,” where Ribot has played a prominent role. Personally, I believe Ribot is the greatest guitarist in the history of music—and I know that statement may be excessive, but so be it. Many serious authorities would certainly understand why Ribot is (at least) one of the most important guitarists in contemporary popular and improvised music. On that point, I believe there is a consensus.

On the other hand, there is Marc Ribot as a bandleader and singer. He released his first album under his own name, Rootless Cosmopolitans, in 1990, at a moment when he had already built a magnificent body of work with Waits and with The Lounge Lizards. Since I hadn’t listened to this album in years, I played it again to check whether there was any singing on it—there is, on several tracks, starting with a deconstructed cover of Hendrix’s classic “Wind Cries Mary.”

I must admit that I might not have recognized his voice in a blindfold test—it sounds younger and different than it does today, when his vocal style is clearly more defined. It felt more like an exploration of new territory. In the late ’90s and early 2000s came two albums with Los Cubanos Postizos, where we again hear him only occasionally and in a more functional context, as he leaves the more prominent vocal roles to others.

The first Ceramic Dog album, Party Intellectuals, was released in 2008. It opens with a frenetic cover of “Break on Through” by the legendary The Doors; it feels as though this „seasoned“ Ribot is “winking” at the one who sang Hendrix 18 years earlier, opening a new chapter in his rich career.

At this point, Marc Ribot is not only a legendary guitarist, but also an author of numerous albums across different contexts—from solo acoustic guitar to more avant-garde band settings. There are many musicians who begin their careers in relatively commercial waters, only to explore more experimental expressions later on. But what if you’ve already spent decades as one of the most prominent figures of the boldest branch of the American avant-garde and improvised scene—that is, jazz understood in its broadest sense?

Seen from that perspective, the turn toward Ceramic Dog appears entirely logical, especially if you perceive Ribot as one of the greatest punks among (free) jazzers. At least, that’s how I see it.

I clearly remember the moment when the track “Masters of the Internet” from the 2013 album Your Turn appeared. It became a major media topic—at least on websites that follow alternative and jazz music.

“Download this music for free / We like it when you do / We don’t have homes / Or families to feed / We’re not human like you / We live inside your iPod / We’ve no religion or god / We’re slaves who only live to serve / The masters of the Internet / The masters of the Internet.”

It was the peak era of free downloads, and Ribot’s lyrics could hardly be more direct in conveying the song’s message. In that sense, this track is an important cornerstone in defining Ribot’s authorial persona within Ceramic Dog, introducing him as a songwriter unafraid of slogans and direct engagement with pressing issues. At the time, it may have been a more narrowly “professional” topic, but with Donald Trump’s first term, the situation of course became more intense. Many musicians felt the need to speak openly about Trump and the consequences of his presidency, and Ribot was no exception.

On Your Turn, I feel that Marc Ribot becomes increasingly free as a singer. Of course, we are still talking about his “utilitarian” approach, shaped by the songs themselves and rooted in a punk-rock aesthetic. He uses different microphones and production approaches for his voice, but occasionally lets it ring out freely. Although we know that Marc Ribot is not a typical lead vocal, like singers in alternative rock bands or jazz singers, his voice is easily perceived as natural, meaningful, even attractive within the context of Ceramic Dog. Just as we hear small “imperfections” in his solos—masterfully positioned within the musical context—his voice plays a specific role within the overall performance concept. If the “narrator” is angrily delivering his lines, then Ribot’s charged vocal will sound exactly right. In that sense, his style becomes a synthesis of two elements—Ribot the narrator (the one presenting his poetry or „story“) and Ribot the punk (the one disregarding conventions of vocal “beauty”).

YRU Still Here? is an essential Ceramic Dog album. The opening track, “Personal Nancy,” presents Marc Ribot as a furious slam poet and narrator, a hilarious yet simultaneously angry and witty songwriter. “Fuck La Migra” worked brilliantly for me when performed with another band that promoted the album Songs of Resistance: 1942–2018, with which he appeared at the SuperUho festival in the Croatian coastal town of Primošten.

Back in 2019, I was quite skeptical about how songs previously performed by vocalists such as Fay Victor—or other guest singers on that album—would sound; it turned out that the concern was completely unfounded, and that Ribot is a true artist of vocal improvisation, reinterpretation, and adaptation across different contexts and bands.

At that concert, I first heard the song “Activist,” which would appear two years later on Ceramic Dog’s album Hope. I have no words to describe the excitement I felt hearing this piece; it’s a small poetic masterpiece that is at the same time hilariously entertaining. The music, of course, is excellent as well. At a concert in Paris five years later, Marc Ribot performed the same song in a solo setting, where it sounded completely different. On that occasion, I also heard the song “The Empire State Building,” based on a tourist brochure text, which in that version could be read as a hilariously entertaining anti-capitalist manifesto.

Poet? Stand-up comedian? Punk musician? Vocal improviser? He’s all of that—and more. Hearing him across three concerts in three different vocal settings, I realized that Marc Ribot is a true master of live performance in the broadest sense.

Ceramic Dog is definitely his most “relaxed” band. Not if we consider the lyrics, of course, but from a purely musical standpoint. This means that the music follows a punk-rock flow and does not rely on obvious genre deconstruction, nor does it foreground improvisation in the way his more jazz-oriented projects do. That doesn’t mean there is no improvisation. The mere presence of Ches Smith and Shahzad Ismaily already signals to the listener that they will witness top-level musicianship—just without unnecessary display.

Although Ceramic Dog may appear musically “balanced” in that sense, its psychological effect on listeners and audiences should not be overlooked. Those who come with a background in New York’s creative improvised music scene will further appreciate the band’s looseness; if you approach them from a rock or alternative perspective, you may be drawn in by the subtlety of their improvisational spirit, which emerges from the cracks of this seemingly “genre-based” music.

See you at the show!

After a couple of months of a very intense work period, I’ll finally manage to take a few days off. I’ll use them to go to two days of the Ljubljana Jazz Festival in Slovenia, and to a concert by Marc Ribot and his trio Ceramic Dog in Pula, Croatia, where I’ll stay for a few more days by the sea. I still have two texts in reserve that I’ll publish next week, after which I’ll take a one-week break on Eurojazzist as well. Although I’ll probably still be posting video reels on Instagram made from concert fragments.

New listens

This week I recommend three albums. The first is “Where Light Settles” by British saxophonist Jasmine Myra, whom I heard a few months ago at jazzahead in Bremen. At the time, I felt that the trade fair hall was simply too large for her music, which radiates delicacy and subtle emotion. In a more intimate listening environment, everything works much better. Gondwana Records is known for highly melodic releases that carry something of what we call “spiritual jazz,” or simply the warmth and gentleness of indie pop. Myra fits that sensibility well and captivates with the beauty of her core themes and compositions, without unnecessary virtuosity display.

A very intimate record, though in a somewhat different way, is “Opatrně (Carefully)” by the Czech duo Toša, consisting of alto saxophonist Michal Wróblewski and double bassist Klára Pudláková. As noted in the promo material, they present a “shared musical language that emerged over a year and a half of performing and living together.” A somewhat unusual reference that came to mind was the album “Jasmine” by Keith Jarrett and Charlie Haden. Of course, the instrumentation and sensibilities are different, but there’s a similar informal, relaxed approach to collective music-making. The focus is on beautiful melodies, but within them you also find small “fractures” or slightly dissonant nuances: sometimes a scraping of the bow, or the sound of air escaping through the saxophone, or something along those lines. It’s clear these are musicians who are also comfortable in free music contexts, and that “nerve” surfaces within this small, intimate, home-like music.

Red Largo, an international lineup based in Berlin, with their latest record “Hotel Neuf” takes me back to the first decade of the 21st century, when I was deeply into Gutbucket and Electric Masada, AlasNoAxis, Hilmar Jensson, Trevor Dunn’s Trio Convulsant, Zu, and so on. The quartet—Fredrik Kinbom (lap steel guitar, bass guitar, guitar, vibraphone, harmonium, celesta, synth, voice, electronics), Sonja Kessner (voice, flute, piano, harmonium, celesta, synth, electronics), Andreas Dormann (bass clarinet, bass flute, electronics), and Chris Farr, with special guest Matti Bye on several tracks (I recently reviewed the excellent band Kiri Ra, in which he plays with Linda Fredriksson and Lau Nau)—moves at the intersection of melodic indie, post-rock, and contemporary jazz. It may lean even more toward “alternative” culture, but who cares. It’s great (mostly) instrumental music that I warmly recommend.

Jazz Across Europe

One of the most unusual concert locations I’ve visited in recent years is the Fikl Art Stage in the remote Romanian village of Socolari. There, Romanian painter Gheorghe Fikl bought an abandoned estate on the edge of the village, right next to the forest, and created a kind of art center with several gallery spaces and a concert stage. The fortunate thing is that the village is very close to the Serbian border, so it takes just a little over two hours to get there by car.

Last season, among others, Jacky Terrasson and the Tord Gustavsen Trio performed there, and this year Tord Gustavsen comes in a duo formation with saxophonist Trygve Seim. This is a new project that will tour later in the year, and I will certainly not miss the concert scheduled for July 13.

And a festival I warmly recommend is Punkt Festival in Norway – I’ve written many times about Jan Bang and Erik Honoré and their musical adventures, as well as the concept of Punkt Live Remixes, so I won’t repeat myself. This year’s lineup is spectacular: Nils Petter Molvær, Tania Giannouli, Goran Kajfeš Tropiques, Erik Honoré, Bugge Wesseltoft, and more – the full program is HERE, and the festival takes place from September 3 to 5 in Kristiansand.

As in previous years, work always seems to get in the way at exactly that time, along with certain logistical and financial challenges related to traveling to Norway from Serbia. But one day I’ll definitely make it there.

Sun-Mi Hong is a drummer, composer, and bandleader who is increasingly establishing a strong presence on the European jazz scene. After moving from Korea to Amsterdam, she formed several of her own ensembles, among which her quartet—releasing albums for Edition Records—has stood out in recent years. However, equally interesting is the BIDA Orchestra project, which moves from the realm of “modern creative” jazz into the field of more open improvisation.

The album “REFLEX: Invisible Ropes” was released two years ago on Bimhuis Records, the label arm of the well-known Amsterdam concert venue Bimhuis. Within the conceptual REFLEX series, a number of other interesting albums have also been released, which you can listen to HERE.

But the specific reason for this conversation is the performance of Sun-Mi Hong’s BIDA Orchestra at the Ljubljana Jazz Festival, taking place from July 1 to 4 in the capital of Slovenia. During my few days at the festival, this will be one of the most important concerts for me to attend.

BIDA Orchestra was created within a BIMHUIS production framework, in which artists are invited “to reflect on the world.” If we momentarily set aside the band itself and the music that emerged: what did you consider to be your key reflection, statement, or viewpoint?

A lot of projects are connected to specific topics as a way to create meaning and context. I am a thinker, and as musicians we constantly need to reflect on ourselves and the world around us because the two are always connected. For this project, I chose to focus on dreams. (consciousness and unconsciousness)

In a world full of constant noise and cracks, my album “Reflex: Invisible Ropes” explores a lost space where consciousness and the unconscious meet. The reflection is personal, but at the same time it relates to something universal about how we experience and navigate the world.

In that context, what does the album title Invisible Ropes refer to?

Holding on to invisible ropes, believing that everything will be fine, while at the same time struggling with ourselves. It is about survival, hope, and the inner battles we carry.

Compared to the band that releases albums on Edition Records, BIDA Orchestra has a more open structure. Alistair Payne is a constant, but now there are also players such as John Dikeman and Mette Rasmussen, as well as Jozef Dumoulin and John Edwards. Did you first have a vision of the music that required a certain type of musician, or did you start from the people themselves and what they bring musically?

I wrote this repertoire based on the sound and musicality of these specific musicians. So yes, the musicians came first, and then the music followed.

Rawness and depth were the key reasons for bringing these players together. Everyone in this project is an incredible improviser with a strong musical identity. Because of that, I keep the compositions minimal, just basic lines and harmonies. I leave the expression, tone, and emotion completely up to them. I trust their instincts to fill in the rest.

You are also working with Mette Rasmussen on another joint project, NOCTILUME.

It is a completely different group with a different musical direction. The music is different, and I have a different artistic goal in mind. Each project asks for something unique, and I approach them on their own terms. Writing perspective: BIDA orchestra was inspired a lot from listening to Sun Ra Arkestra and Noctilume’s music was inspired by Canadian post-rock band called Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

Your albums seem to have a certain narrative, almost literary flow. „Fourth Page: Meaning of a Nest“ includes two multi-part compositions, “Meaning of a Nest” and “A Never-Wilting Petal.” Before that, there were Third Page, Second Page… Did you have the concept — the story you wanted to tell through music — in mind from the very beginning?

„First Page“ was created when I graduated from my master’s program at the Conservatorium van Amsterdam. It felt like a gift to myself and a way to reflect on who I was at that moment. I always liked leaving space for the audience’s own interpretation. At the same time, I chose the title „First Page“ because it felt as if my life had started a new chapter when I moved to the Netherlands. From there, the albums gradually developed into more chapters.

What has working with Dave Stapleton and the Edition Records team brought you?

For me, it is definitely about artistic understanding, freedom, support, and belief in my work. Working with Dave Stapleton and the Edition Records team has given me the confidence to continue developing my own voice without feeling pressured to fit into a particular mold.

Stories from your albums are clearly very personal. On the other hand, music as such is abstract and non-verbal. How do you see and experience the relationship between your own emotional and intellectual sphere on one side, and what the audience hears through the band’s music on the other?

Some people are comfortable sharing their emotions and personal lives through music. Others prefer to hide behind the music or become something else entirely. Both approaches are valuable and understandable. As human beings, we do not have to measure ourselves by popularity, mainstream success, or any objective goal. What I go through is my own journey, me versus myself, not me versus others.

At the same time, I am the small thing in this world. So if people feel something deeply in their hearts through the music, I am happy.

Having titles is fun because they give me something to explain when I need to. But sometimes I also like leaving things unexplained and allowing listeners to find their own meaning.

Your music, whether in your quintet, BIDA Orchestra, or other projects, draws inspiration from both American and European jazz perspectives. In that sense, did you consciously want to move away from Korean musical heritage, or was it never part of your main field of interest to begin with?

Unfortunately, I have no training in Korean traditional music, even though I believe it is one of the most beautiful and spiritual musical traditions in the world.

American jazz and European jazz have been my strongest influences, and I do not feel any pressure to add elements of Korean traditional music simply because of where I come from. That would not feel honest to me.

At the same time, if people hear something Korean in my music, I will not argue with that. The truth is that I am rooted somewhere, and more and more I am accepting that my music is deeply connected to Korean culture, even if not in an obvious or traditional way.

On the other hand, what is it that you like about Amsterdam? Why did you decide to come here in the first place, and have your initial expectations been fulfilled?

My life became much better after moving here. Or maybe I finally saw that there was a small light, a possibility of a different future. Just stepping into the unknown was exciting, and I am grateful that the unknown happened to be the Netherlands.
Experiencing cultural differences and living in a country that values music and the arts so highly was fascinating. It changed me completely.

A few days ago, I published an interview with double bassist Esat Erikincioglu in which we talk about many topics – his work with AVA Trio and Kuhn Fu, how he developed his playing style, his concert agency, life in the Netherlands, his relationship with figures from the Turkish jazz scene, and so on. I had decided to publish three Instagram videos as a kind of teaser for the full interview, so during the initial editing of the audio file I marked the parts that seemed most “catchy” for a short format.

Even during the conversation, I knew I would be able to use the part where Esat talks about American jazz and notes how, in his formative years, he didn’t like either jazz or Ron Carter – probably the greatest legend in the history of jazz double bass. I’m not naive, and I was aware of the polemical potential of his statement, that it would provoke the anger of part of the traditional jazz audience.

It didn’t matter that Esat repeatedly emphasized that this all referred to his taste and that “for him” it was that way. He even says that he enjoys listening to American jazz. Anyone watching the video in good faith could clearly understand what the artist wanted to say. And what he actually said.

However, the amount of insults that poured in was unbelievable. I don’t want to recount them. In the end, I felt compelled to lock the comments because I couldn’t successfully moderate them in real time. There were also a few thoughtful comments and attempts to engage in an argument-based discussion (thanks Jason Marsalis), but all of that was buried under banal one-liners and personal attacks.

We all like to say that jazz is music for open-minded people, music of freedom. But how true is that really?

The history of jazz is a history of resistance to new music and constant clashes between “traditionalists” and “modernists,” as well as different factions within the genre. Just think of the emergence of bebop and the way that music positioned itself in relation to what came before it.

And what about free jazz! A musician from the Big Band RTS, the national Serbian jazz orchestra, once told me that the history of jazz ended in 1959 and that everything after that is “not jazz.” That’s just one of a million examples.

Just when audiences got used to the avant-gardists, the jazz-rock revolution arrived. There’s no need to elaborate on the kind of split that happened at that moment – among musicians, audiences, and jazz journalists and writers. Then we all gradually got used to this music as well, played by some of the greatest jazz legends.

Then came Kenny G and smooth jazz, which was one of the greatest tests of tolerance for all those who consider themselves open-minded. How do you love jazz without hating Kenny G and mocking him?

On the other hand, it’s interesting to consider what exactly this musician did wrong. He didn’t steal anything from anyone. He didn’t insult anyone. And above all, he plays music that brings joy to millions of people. Music associated with romance, love, and making love. With positive emotions.

Of course, I myself hated Kenny G for a long time and gladly mocked him from the condescending position of a “jazz connoisseur,” considering his music shameful and so on. But all of that matters only within our small bubbles where jazz obsessives clash and argue. When we step outside our little jazz wars, a different perspective opens up.

Moving on – the era of Wynton Marsalis arrived, followed by the “young lions,” and the “new traditionalism” struck back. Yet another historical phase in which we divided into trenches. Those divisions remained in place over the following decades, and the conflict between traditionalists and modernists became a kind of constant.

Sometime in the 2000s, there was also the famous case at a festival in Spain when a jazz festival attendee called the police to complain that the concert he was listening to “was not jazz.” So he wanted his money back. At that moment, the seasoned avant-garde saxophonist Larry Ochs was performing on stage.

Wynton Marsalis later responded by asking the Guardian journalist to connect him with this jazz purist so he could send him a gift and thank him – which, admittedly, we can also view simply as a good PR move for his audience.

Do we have a new “jazz war” today, with American jazz on one side and the kind played in other parts of the world on the other?

Judging by the reactions to Esat’s interview, as well as several texts and panels on similar topics here on Substack and, for example, at the jazzahead! trade fair, it seems that there is at least a “glitch” in the mutual understanding of people who play or love a music nominally based on freedom, improvisation, and creativity.

From what I can see in the responses circulating on Instagram, part of the jazz musicians and jazz audience in the USA (but also elsewhere) are bothered by a kind of “cultural appropriation” of jazz as an African-American musical form, that is, by the feeling that reinterpretations of jazz in other parts of the world do not sufficiently acknowledge the socio-political and cultural context in which this music was created.

I notice a narrative that “jazz” is only the music that originally emerged in the USA, and that its variations performed elsewhere represent some music that is “not jazz,” and therefore has no right to claim this genre label, which carries not only musical but also broader social and cultural implications.

I understand this position. In fact, I understand it more, the more I read about it. On the other hand, I keep coming back to the idea that the fundamental quality of jazz is that it is a music of freedom. A music that pushes boundaries, celebrates improvisation and creativity. A music that has spread across the entire world, planted its seeds, and inspired millions of musicians and ordinary people.

So how and why did we arrive at a point where we fiercely “defend” this music from those who are not attacking it at all? I do not exclude myself from this “protective impulse” either – I just do it from my own position, from my own bubble.

Someone in the comments on Esat’s remarks about American jazz noted that Miles Davis would surely have been totally cool with all of this, that he would have liked this double bassist. Maybe that’s true, and maybe it isn’t – we’ll never know. But it’s not a bad idea to recall Miles’s career and worldview, in this year when we celebrate his life and work.

Miles Davis always pushed jazz forward and expanded its boundaries, disregarding conventions, the breaking of bridges with tradition, or the hate he attracted. Today we celebrate him as probably the greatest jazz musician of all time. Think about that.

I announced the interview with double bassist Esat Ekincioğlu a few weeks ago in my weekend column; on that occasion, I recalled our first meeting through his work with the bands AVA Trio (Mediterranean avant-garde jazz) and Kuhn Fu (theatrical alternative jazz rock and much more). In this conversation, we also mention his work with saxophonist Korhan Futacı, as well as a new project that has just been born in Serbia – a trio with saxophonist Hayden Chisholm and drummer Aleksandar Škorić.

What I immediately loved about Esat is his infectious enthusiasm; whether it’s about the music itself, or the energy he invests in all possible aspects of his work. In addition to playing in several bands, he also runs his own concert agency, Chilli Chilli. As we learn in the conversation, he plays at least 100 concerts a year. He lives in Groningen in the Netherlands, which turns out to be a kind of logistical challenge; but on the other hand, an advantage when it comes to certain other aspects of everyday life.

The conversation with Esat Ekincioğlu is therefore also a conversation about music and about “the jazz life” in its various forms. I hope you will enjoy this episode of the Eurojazzist audio series.

Violist and composer Szilárd Mezei is in many ways an atypical jazz musician of today—both on a global level and, more specifically, in Serbia. I once read somewhere that the greatest form of subversion today is simply being normal, which certainly strikes me as an interesting and relevant point. In a world that rewards shock value, foolishness, and activities designed to stop your doomscroll within the first three seconds on social media—where musicians feel compelled to invest enormous amounts of time in self-promotion and exposing their private lives in the public sphere just to remain “relevant”—Szilárd Mezei is precisely that “normal guy.”

He lives in the very small town of Senta in northern Serbia, far from all major music centers; he composes for his own bands, but also writes applied music for theatre. He releases several albums a year, without any pomp or spectacle. He does not seek media exposure, and on social media he only occasionally informs friends about his new albums or upcoming concerts.

At the same time, he is one of a very small number of musicians from Serbia—perhaps even the only one in the past 20–30 years—who has appeared multiple times in DownBeat’s annual polls. He has released music for prestigious free-jazz oriented labels such as Not Two, and has performed and recorded with Charles Gayle, Phil Minton, Joel Grip, and many others. Yet his most important ensembles have always been formed with musicians from Serbia and Hungary, the two cultural environments to which he belongs. Within this, he moves in a particularly compelling creative framework—on the one hand drawing inspiration from American greats such as Cecil Taylor and especially Anthony Braxton, while on the other remaining open to 20th-century composed music, theatre music, and Hungarian musical heritage.

His compositions are highly elaborate, sometimes maze-like, yet also full of spirit, wit, and a sense of creation that radiates intelligence and thoughtful design. In that sense, Szilárd Mezei is something of an old-school intellectual. His respect for the musicians he plays with is reflected in the fact that he never places himself in the foreground; the instrumental “stars” are often those we would call sidemen. In Mezei’s world, they are in a way the frontmen, while he himself acts as a creator and conductor from the shadows, setting the stage and then granting everyone the necessary freedom.

I write this rather long introduction with the awareness that many international readers may not yet be familiar with his work; on the other hand, my impression while listening to the current album Only in Movies is that it represents a synthesis of the very best this musician has to offer. From the moment I began writing this text, I have still been on the first track, “Only in Movies”—not because I write too quickly, but because the piece itself lasts 31 minutes and contains a great deal of his qualities, above all - his compositional and arranging genius.

At one time, about fifteen years ago, when he formed his septet, it most often functioned as Mezei’s most „jazz-oriented” ensemble, within a post-bop framework with influences of 1960s American free jazz. With a minimal expansion into an octet, featuring more or less the same or similar musicians, what comes most strongly to the fore here is Mezei the composer, whose work seamlessly intertwines a love of chamber composition, theatre, and the aforementioned niche of jazz.

If we return to the opening paragraphs and Mezei’s intellectualism—it is as if through this opening composition he makes it clear, that he has no interest in any kind of compromise. Like a filmmaker who makes a three-hour film, or a writer who produces an 800-page book, he invites us to leave behind the world of trivial everyday life and immerse ourselves in the world of art. With attention, concentration, and the desire to understand what the author wanted to say; with the aim of enriching our own lives, and then reflecting on what we have experienced. To analyze our own listening experience and perhaps share it with someone close. And then to immerse ourselves in this music again, allowing new layers and nuances—created by all eight musicians—to reveal themselves.

The third track, “The Tailor’s Apprentices,” is another epic piece lasting 25 minutes, which more openly draws us into Mezei’s remarkable world of collective improvisation. Even as a multitude of instruments intertwine, we as listeners do not feel that we are witnessing an “assault on the senses.” The colors of this music are dark and dense. Flute, bass clarinet, bassoon, viola, vibraphone intertwine—these are all instruments we might more readily imagine in a symphony orchestra or classical ensemble, yet here they enter into layered group solos.

Or at least until the next section of the composition, when Ervin Malina and Istvan Csik initiate a jazz-driven pulse, a meticulous weave of double bass and cymbals in the spirit of the finest jazz traditions. They are then joined by Máté Pozsár, a refined virtuoso from the Hungarian jazz scene, who restrains his untamed free jazz talent in order to craft delicate solo vignettes.

After writing this sentence, I looked at the player—the composition had “only” reached the ten-minute mark when Szilárd Mezei himself enters, bringing his distinctive blend of roughness and vulnerability as a viola soloist. Much more will happen before the end; but even this extended introduction gives a clear sense of the kind of arranging discourse at work here.

The album contains three additional “shorter” compositions lasting 5, 7, and 9 minutes. The track “8 - 6 + (2 - 8) + (6 - 2) + 6” is the only one that more extensively ventures into the realm of free improvisation, while the closing “Lath Waltz” may even sound ironic to the listener after everything heard over the previous hour. But this is only an initial deceptive impression, behind which lies once again a true compositional nerve; a few subtle details, a step off the rails, an entry into the labyrinth—followed by a return to the essential beauty of melody.

Szilárd Mezei is the author of what I would call “big music.” The kind that is neither fleeting nor aligned with trends, yet at the same time does not sound outdated or obsolete. Szilárd Mezei is a future classic.

Musicians:

Szilárd Mezei – viola
Andrea Berendika – flute
Bogdan Ranković – alto sax, bass clarinet
Nemanja Mihailović – bassoon
Ivan Burka – vibraphone
Máté Pozsár – piano
Ervin Malina – double bass
István Csík – drums

On Wednesday, we hosted a concert by the Austrian trio HAEZZ at Studio 6 of Radio Belgrade. By now, I’ve probably mentioned this event several times in my columns, but I’d like to add a few more lines from a different angle—the joy of creating a jazz concert.

While the concert audience learns about a band’s performance a few weeks in advance—or even later—our radio team works on the concert for several months. Our first meeting took place at the Austrian Cultural Forum in Belgrade toward the end of last year, when we applied for co-funding, while part of the budget is secured through the funds of Radio Television of Serbia. Since the HAEZZ trio are on the NASOM list of Austrian Music Export, and thanks to the long-standing and positive collaboration between Radio Belgrade and the Austrian Cultural Forum, we assumed there would be no issues with funding. A few months later, this proved to be true.

Even before submitting the application, I got in touch with the band via their official email address listed on their website, as I didn’t personally know any of the trio members. Saxophonist Štěpán Flagar replied, and over the following months he would take on the role of the band’s manager. He confirmed that the band would be happy to perform, outlined the fee and other conditions, and we agreed on June 10 as the date.

After the budget was officially approved a few months ago, our correspondence intensified around a range of technical matters—from airline tickets and accommodation to renting a double bass, as well as certain Kafkaesque bureaucratic complications related to paying the radio portion of the fee. At the same time, we maintained ongoing communication with Štěpán via email and WhatsApp (when something required an immediate response), while I was also coordinating with the Austrian Cultural Forum regarding the financial and technical aspects of their support, as well as the preparation of promotional materials. These activities intensified even further in the days leading up to the concert, as well as on the day of their arrival.

Before I met Štěpán at Belgrade Airport (Martin Eberle and Tobias Vedovelli arrived the following day), we had probably exchanged at least 50 emails and messages on various topics. Although many of them were technical, it also turned out that we share quite a few acquaintances and mutual friends among musicians—both in his native Czech Republic and within the Serbian jazz diaspora in Austria.

By the time we finally met in person, I no longer felt like I was welcoming “some musician from abroad,” but rather someone with whom I share a common joy about the upcoming Belgrade concert, as well as the shared experience of participating in the “jazz life.” The sense that we were doing something meaningful—not just for ourselves, but also for the roughly 80 people who would attend the concert on Wednesday evening (the maximum capacity of the studio), and for many more who would listen to the live broadcast on the Third Programme of Radio Belgrade.

All of us who work “behind the scenes” to make jazz concerts happen should occasionally pause and remind ourselves of everything that is beautiful and fundamentally human about these events. Sometimes you just push through life and take everything you do for granted—perhaps as just another effort in an overloaded schedule or one of many obligations that brings stress, but not necessarily much financial reward. During the HAEZZ soundcheck, I felt this invisible thread connecting us—the three musicians and the three of us from the radio team, alongside me the wonderful Ksenija Stevanović and Ivana Neimarević. A shared awareness and joy that we are doing something meaningful, in every possible sense of the word.

New listens

I was delighted to come across the album Spring Flood by Mariam Wallentin & Vestnorsk Jazzensemble, released by Hubro Music. I first became a fan of Mariam during her tenure with Fire! Orchestra, where she formed a fantastic vocal duo with Sofia Jernberg—I believe their contribution was essential to the ensemble, at least as much as Mats Gustafsson’s and his arranging vision. Of course, she also has a number of her own projects that I simply haven’t had the time to follow, but since I keep up with everything released by Hubro, I was very happy to see this album come out.

It both resembles and differs from Fire! Orchestra. Mariam’s vocal is, of course, unmistakable; the music transcends the boundaries of richly orchestrated jazz and (alternative) pop and rock, yet the authorial sensibility is somewhat different—which is perfectly natural and fine. After a few listens, I’m certain I’ll keep returning to this album.

At the beginning of the month, Swedish pianist Karin Johansson reached out to present the album Sonic Waves, recorded in a trio with Nils Wohlrabe (guitar, electronics) and Hasse Westling (double bass), released on Outerdisk label. The title reflects the content: sonic structures that depart from conventional jazz logic and venture into the realm of free improvisation, with a strong focus on instrumental texture. Although I’ve listened to many similar albums of varying quality, something here immediately clicked and appealed to me. It will probably take a few more listens to articulate exactly why, but for now I can wholeheartedly recommend it.

The third new album I listened to is Jordan Smart’s Above The Street, released by Atlas Forge Records. This is a saxophonist I’ve heard in Vega Trails, Mammal Hands, and Sunda Arc—I like all those bands, and each of them has its own distinct identity. Smart is not a showy saxophonist; he adapts well to the musical context while also bringing his own signature through melodic lines. In this solo setting, the natural associations lean toward minimalistic/ambient/electronic jazz, where Smart once again finds his footing in his introspective musical language.

Jazz Across Europe

I visited the Music Unlimited festival in the Austrian city of Wels only once, back in 2017, when Mary Halvorson was the curator and artist in residence. I liked both the festival and its concept, but as we rarely have enough free time and money for constant travel, I haven’t returned since. This year, the main artist/curator role is held by drummer and composer Mariá Portugal, a Brazilian musician who has been living and working in Germany for years. I first saw her perform about four years ago with Quartabê, an ensemble that originally combined Brazilian musical heritage with avant-garde jazz, and since then she has been involved in a number of interesting musical projects. She even joined my favorite Fire! Orchestra, where she takes on both drumming and vocal roles.

In any case - Mariá Portugal curated this year’s program, which takes place from November 5 to 8, “featuring around 60 musicians from all over the world, with a focus on Latin American artists,” as stated in the initial announcement. She will also perform with her ensembles EROSÃO Percussion Trio and EROSÃO Septet. Highly recommended.

Up until 2013, I didn’t really pay much attention to the work of Norwegian vocalist Sidsel Endresen. I might have heard a track here or there that didn’t quite land with me, or an older album that made me think, “this just isn’t for me.” I didn’t dig any deeper.

That changed when I went to the Jazzaldia festival in San Sebastian. I was there mainly to see John Zorn’s Masada Marathon—a six-hour spectacle featuring 12 bands performing works from Zorn’s Masada repertoire. Everything else on the program was welcome, but not essential. Still, I was browsing the lineup and came across a group called Uncommon Deities, which for this occasion consisted of Jan Bang, Erik Honoré, and Sidsel Endresen. I remembered these musicians as part of some interesting projects, so I decided to pencil the performance into my schedule.

It took place in the atrium of the San Telmo Museum, late at night. It was pouring rain. None of that stopped me from entering a very intriguing space, where there were no more than 20–30 people in the audience. The music I heard absolutely captivated me; I had never encountered such an original approach to blending electronics and free improvisation. Sidsel Endresen was phenomenal.

That same autumn, I went to the Skopje Jazz Festival. This time, in front of a much larger audience, Sidsel Endresen performed with guitarist Stian Westerhus. What a spectacle that was! Endresen sounded fierce, as did Stian with his roaring, grinding guitar textures. Just the two of them on a big stage, side by side and without any scenery, effortlessly held the audience’s attention and shook the room.

Both concerts left a strong impression on me. Over the following years, I gradually started adding Sidsel’s albums to my player. My partner Monika also grew fond of some of her records, and we began listening to her often together in the car on long drives.

Beginnings

The broader jazz audience first became familiar with Sidsel Endresen when she began recording under her own name for ECM Records in the early 1990s. Before that, she was best known for her work with the jazz-pop-fusion group Jon Eberson Group, which today sounds rather “naive,” especially when viewed from the perspective of her more recent output.

In any case, she released two ECM albums—So I Write and Exile. Both were undoubtedly significant steps forward in her career at the time. The first featured Nils Petter Molvær, Django Bates, and Jon Christensen, while the second added cellist David Darling and Bugge Wesseltoft to that lineup.

I’ve listened to both albums many times, but in the end I always felt that it still wasn’t quite “Sidsel Endresen.” These are certainly highly competent records with excellent musicians, but what we would later recognize and love as her distinctive vocal techniques and performance language is here only in its early formation. We got “two solid ECM vocal albums,” but the truly groundbreaking Sidsel Endresen would emerge a few years later.

Sidsel Endresen – Undertow (2000, Jazzland)

This is the first album Endresen recorded for Jazzland under her own name, and it represents a “bridge” between ECM aesthetics and her emerging personal voice. She is joined by longtime collaborators Bugge Wesseltoft and Nils Petter Molvær, while the rest of the lineup includes Patrick Shaw Iversen (flute & loops), Roger Ludvigsen (guitars, bass & percussion), and Audun Kleive (drums, percussion & loops).

A key step forward on this record is the somewhat minimalist approach to composition and arrangement, as well as a reimagined rhythm section concept. Instead of a loosely “scattered jazz” rhythmic feel, the music now sounds tighter, more grounded, more stable.

Endresen does not yet push her voice into highly complex avant-garde improvisational extremes, but she plays with tone and texture in a very subtle, controlled way. These variations are delicate, technically refined, and never feel showy or self-justifying.

Here, Endresen becomes the dominant creative force in her own music, and it is already clear we are listening to an artist we seek out for her presence alone—excited for everything only she can bring.

Sidsel Endresen, Bugge Wesseltoft – Out Here. In There (2002, Jazzland)

An absolute masterpiece. This is the third album Sidsel and Bugge recorded together and the natural culmination of their collaboration.

Bugge Wesseltoft emerged in the 1990s as one of the key jazz innovators in what was then called nu jazz—a fusion of jazz and dance-oriented electronic music. Endresen, meanwhile, was increasingly pushing her vocal experimentation into more avant-garde directions. In this formation, both artists fully contribute their identities while creating a shared language of remarkable originality.

After the opening Truth and the melodic title track—highlights of jazz-pop craftsmanship—the music begins to drift into something more otherworldly. This is especially true of the triptych Survival Techniques, composed by Jon Balke, with lyrics by Sidsel Endresen.

“Accentuate the obvious / Camouflage the rest / Complexity is always so confusing…
Accentuate the popular / If that is what looks best / Then cover up the rest”

Sidsel delivers these lines in a surprisingly melodic way, before slipping into abstract improvisation and transforming from a “gentle pop singer” into a “dangerous avant-gardist.” The lyrics function as an ironic entry point into improvisation, which then becomes a fully embodied artistic statement. Brilliant.

Another key track is Heartbeat, where Endresen’s vocal delivery becomes fragmented—like a CD skipping, creating the sense that something is “not working properly.” But at a certain point, you realize everything is under control; she masterfully shapes her voice as both instrument and narrative device, weaving it together with Wesseltoft’s carefully constructed electronic piano textures.

The album balances “beautiful” music—which it truly is—with radical vocal experimentation and Wesseltoft’s synth-driven electronic atmosphere, resulting in a work of extraordinary originality and top-tier performance.

Uncommon Deities (2012, Samadhisound)

Different sources list different credits for this album. In some places it is attributed to the full group, in others to Jan Bang, and sometimes to David Sylvian. The lineup includes Jan Bang, Erik Honoré, David Sylvian, Sidsel Endresen, and Arve Henriksen.

The album is essentially a reinvention of David Sylvian’s audio installation from the Punkt Festival in Norway, and the complex story of its creation is documented HERE.

On this record, poetic narration, abstract ambient textures, improvisation, and hints of what we recognize as “Scandinavian jazz” are all interwoven, alongside the unmistakable vocal presence of both David Sylvian and Sidsel Endresen.

At this point, you might say: well, this isn’t really her album. And technically, that may be true. But once you hear her voice and the way she enters the sonic space—surrounded by musicians who share her sensibility—it becomes much clearer.

Just as you instantly recognize Marc Ribot’s guitar on a record and feel the music is immediately elevated, the same happens with Sidsel Endresen’s voice. You know it’s her and no one else, and the music is propelled into another dimension.

There is also a striking parallel with David Sylvian, who moved from Japan, through a carefully considered solo art-pop career, into more abstract avant-garde forms. In many ways, their artistic trajectories mirror each other beautifully, and it is fitting that these two voices eventually crossed paths.

Sidsel Endresen, Stian Westerhus – Bonita (2014, Rune Grammofon)

Throughout the 2000s, Endresen remained highly active in various small formations, fully entering her experimental phase. Among the excellent records from this period is Merriwinkle, where she is joined by Christian Wallumrød and Helge Sten. With Westerhus, she recorded two albums; I am highlighting Bonita here for entirely subjective reasons.

There is something deeply satisfying about the way the album and its opening title track begin. There is no introduction, no warm-up. Sidsel and Stian simply launch in—hard, warped, and intense.

Everything Sidsel had been in the 1990s is here reflected like in a distorted mirror, or an “upside-down” world—a Wonderland, Lynch’s Black Lodge, or some other imaginary, otherworldly space governed by different rules. Yet it still strikes something familiar deep in the subconscious, in the strange ways we visualize dreams.

I’m not sure it makes sense to break this duo record down in strictly analytical musical terms, so I’ll leave it at this impressionistic reflection. I am simply glad and grateful I had the chance to see them live.

Sidsel Endresen | Jan Bang | Erik Honoré – Punkt Live Remixes Vol. 2 (2024, Punkt Editions)

Once again, three familiar collaborators. Bang and Honoré were essential partners for Endresen throughout the 2000s, just as Bugge Wesseltoft and Nils Petter Molvær were in the 1990s and early 2000s. These Norwegian sound experimenters are true cutting-edge musicians, as is Endresen herself, so it is no surprise that their collaborations often result in genuine masterpieces.

Punkt Live Remixes Vol. 2 is a compilation of their work within the Punkt Festival and its live remix concept, spanning a wide period of time.

For better understanding, here is the official description: The Punkt Live Remix concept, central to the Punkt Festival, involves artists performing live remixes of a concert immediately after it has ended. This creates a unique and spontaneous reinterpretation of the original performance, allowing for a dynamic and collaborative exploration of the source material where audiences witness the transformation from the initial performance to its re-imagined version.

The listening experience strongly echoes what I felt at Uncommon Deities—an exciting fusion of abstract electronics and Endresen’s voice, balancing “beauty and danger.” In this configuration, however, they move slightly away from Sylvian’s aesthetic universe into their own territory, and this album truly delivers “the best of” what they create together.

As a long-time fan of Linda Fredriksson—both through their work with Superposition and through their own lineup that recorded one of my favorite albums in recent years, Juniper—I was truly excited by the announcement of a new album by the group Kiri Ra!.

In this formation of equal members, Fredriksson play alongside multi-instrumentalist and sound artist Lau Nau, as well as pianist Matti Bye, who in this setting also performs on a range of instruments. The group was formed back in 2016, when they were commissioned by the Swedish Film Institute to create music for experimental amateur documentary films from its archive. Five years later, they recorded their eponymous debut album, and this year comes nen, the release I am writing about on Eurojazzist.

I came across all of this background information only afterward, approaching the album with little prior knowledge and an open mind. As it turns out, this aligns quite well with a kind of “statement” the band presents in its promotional materials:

"This music does not try to be anything. No pre-determined references, we get into our recording sessions without any verbal communication. It’s more like a state of mind where we are not trying anything, we just see what happens. We create a moment that is unexpected and doesn’t have any locked direction. We are not trying to be anything, We are existing together. This music was made with a lot of time. We drank coffee and tea. Played. Enjoyed pulla and cookies. Played a bit more. We talked. We were slow. It took 10 years to combine the right pieces for the album. We were not in a hurry. Keywords: air, space, love, time, rest, electronic, synthetic, organic, warmth, wood."

I have to say, this is one of the best album texts written by musicians themselves that I’ve come across—without any “references” or elaborate artistic concepts. I was particularly drawn to that emphasis on slowness, on allowing the music to simply “exist” as time flows without a beginning or an end.

I felt all of this already in the opening track “niin-så,” which evoked a series of visual associations for me—not necessarily musical in the narrow sense. A friend of mine wrote on Instagram that he experienced this album as “morning music,” which I found very fitting and, to a large extent, corresponds to my own impression.

The album opens with the sound of a flute, which visually and emotionally transports us into some unidentified natural setting. It could be Vietnam or Thailand—or any isolated place in nature, anywhere in the world. A small wooden cabin in a grove. We hear the sounds of nature and sense the smell of greenery, perhaps even a gentle morning breeze. At the same time, however, the trio does not sound at all like background music, nor like a new age record fulfilling the functional role of “relaxing sound.” Kiri Ra! implicitly invite us to slow down and enter the right state of mind—one that allows us to fully experience every sound, every micro-interaction between the musicians; the subtle building and release of dynamics; the shaping of solos through a kind of musical conversation among friends.

Often, quite naturally, the flute or saxophone will draw our attention. But take, for example, the title track “nen,” which captivates with its discreet percussive and sound-art qualities, where we also hear Lau Nau’s voice. To grasp everything that is happening within the piece, we truly have to be attentive and present. And the moment we commit ourselves properly to the music, a delicate and finely woven texture of the trio reveals itself—layered and intriguing, nothing like the superficial first impression that we might be listening to just another “ambient” track. If we snack on cookies while listening, we might miss an interesting detail—but an entire exciting world can open up between two sips of coffee. Again, that association with morning!

The three musicians play a wide range of instruments, and here’s the list: modular synth, vocals, cello, piano, balafon, glockenspiel, toys, saxophone, flutes, Wurlitzer, mandolin, synth, live electronics, vibraphone. They do so in a way that never oversaturates the music with sound. Each track carries its own sonic environment, built around a particular set of instruments, flowing more like a calm river than erupting like a volcano.

In their music, the “return to nature”—which manifests itself mentally through synesthetic associations—is ultimately a return to our humanity: to love, friendship, conversation, empathy. To listening to the other. To listening to our own thoughts and feelings.

In another turbulent work week, I found the most enjoyment in music I already know—I didn’t experiment with new releases. But jazz life was exciting, in several different ways. After four months of work and 48 published pieces, Eurojazzist has started receiving interesting feedback from various sides. Just in the past few days, several musicians and labels I hadn’t previously been in contact with reached out to me by email. I still haven’t had time to listen to all the music that’s come in; I probably won’t like some of it, while I’ll enjoy other albums more. As I go through them, I’ll be happy not only to discover new music, but also to meet new people with similar passions and interests.

**
Meeting with Esat Ekincioğlu

I first saw double bassist Esat Ekincioğlu with the band Kuhn Fu, when they performed in 2022 at Studio 6 of Radio Belgrade. We briefly said hello during the soundcheck, but nothing more than that. A few days later, they also played at the Pančevo Jazz Festival in my hometown, in a completely different club atmosphere—it was wild and fun. The following year, I saw his “Mediterranean avant-garde” AVA Trio at jazzahead!, and unfortunately missed their Belgrade concert last year at the Todo Mundo festival. We reconnected a few months ago and have stayed more or less in touch since: he once visited Belgrade privately, and a few days ago he arrived in Serbia to play several concerts with local musicians.

We agreed to do an interview that will be published in audio format in a few weeks on Eurojazzist, and I was greatly helped in this by the Czech House in Belgrade—a fantastic new cultural space run by the Czech Centre. In addition to the concert space (where AVA Trio performed last year), there are several other multi-purpose spaces across a few floors. Since I had already collaborated with the Czech Centre through Radio Belgrade and we have a good relationship, they were kind enough to lend us one of their spaces for a quiet conversation and recording. Many thanks once again!

More important than all of this is that Esat came because of a new band in the making. Alongside him, this trio includes drummer Aleksandar Škorić and the fantastic saxophonist Hayden Chisholm. This New Zealander is well known to anyone following the European jazz scene and needs no special introduction. After building a significant reputation during his years living and working in Germany, he moved to Serbia a few years ago, where he still lives today. At his BAM club, he occasionally organizes concerts featuring musicians from different parts of the world.

The Chisholm–Ekincioğlu–Škorić trio played their first concert ever in Novi Sad, and their second in Belgrade a few nights ago. Due to personal reasons, I couldn’t attend, but Esat sent me the audio. So, like in a story—a New Zealander, a Turk, and a Serb, originally from the small town of Bački Jarak, met. They built their careers in Germany and the Netherlands. They came together in Belgrade and formed a new band. Is there a better example of the beautiful cosmopolitan spirit of jazz?

The Art of Interview

The next day, I spoke at the promotion of the book Jazz Sketches of Serbia by journalist, publicist, and festival programmer Vojislav Pantić. The main promotion took place at the Belgrade Youth Center in front of more than 100 people, while the one in Novi Sad had a more intimate setting. Now we had a third promotion at a micro literary festival in the heart of Belgrade, organized by the indie bookstore Makart, where we also talked about his previous book of interviews, Jazz Face. The event was held outdoors, in a small traffic-free square, with a very relaxed and informal atmosphere. Since it was primarily a literary event, we were something like an “off” program, as we belong more to the realm of publicist writing.

Alongside the usual observations about the book, we also spoke on stage about the craft of making a good interview. Or perhaps the “art of the interview”? I’ve always felt that the interview as a form is a slightly weaker side of my journalistic work, and also the one that doesn’t always depend solely on me, but on the the person I’m talking to as well. There have been some great interviews, but also some complete failures. That’s why I found Vojislav’s observation interesting—a technique he adopted from another author (whose name I’ve forgotten), which suggests that the interviewee opens up best when we touch on their formative years—what first brought them into the world of music, jazz, art. As he pointed out, musicians often get bored talking (for the hundredth time) about their current bands and projects, but they enjoy going into something more personal.

I was also reminded of a remark by a popular Serbian podcaster Agelast, known for his long-form conversations. He said something along the lines that in the first half hour, the interviewee says what they have prepared—their learned response to the interview situation. Only after that do they “loosen up,” and it’s in that phase that we get what is actually the most interesting, entering the personal realm.

Of course, in today’s “fast journalism,” a lot is done online, which can turn out either great or completely pointless. But the best things happen in human contact and in what touches on psychology and interpersonal relationships—sometimes even more than in how factually prepared we are for the conversation.

Serbian Jazz on Substack

Last month, I published the piece Essential Contemporary Jazz Records from Serbia, which was among the most-read in May. I conceived it as my universal answer to the question “who are the most interesting jazz musicians in Serbia today,” which kept coming up in different forms in my recent conversations with jazz enthusiasts from other countries.

Jon Greenbaum (cohost of North Star Sounds on Jazz 90.1, WGMC) reached out to me even before I published that piece and asked about recent jazz production from my country, and my response more or less corresponded with the article that followed. A few days later, he let me know that his selection of Serbian musicians found a place both in his radio show and in a text on his Substack page Jazz Digest. He opted for the more avant-garde names from my list—Szilard Mezei, Jasna Jovićević, and Marina Džukljev. I’d say—an excellent choice, one that actually pinpointed the musicians with the relevant international reach.

This week, I was particularly delighted by a piece titled “Basamak” on the Substack page Amplify: Journeys in Jazz. At first, I didn’t quite get it—I saw the title and thought it was the same as the latest album by the Belgrade group Fish in Oil. Then I realized—it is a piece about that album. From a completely new perspective, by someone approaching the band from a personal angle and with fresh ears. I forwarded the text to bandleader Bratislav Radovanović and bassist Branislav Radojković, who warmly welcomed Joel’s introspective review. It’s a cliché to say that “music transcends borders,” but that doesn’t make the point any less meaningful or beautiful.

Of course, it is entirely normal and expected in today’s digital age for music to reach all corners of the world with ease. But is that really the case if you come from a small market and a “non-established jazz country”?

More Substack feedback

Hungarian drummer András Dés wrote in his regular monthly newsletter that, while waiting for his flight at the airport, he came across my note on Jarrett’s album The Survivor’s Suite and decided to use that “extra airport time” to enjoy this musical masterpiece. The text that followed is beautiful, eloquent, and literarily very engaging. I’ve already recommended his Substack before, and I’ll do so again—not as a kind of thank-you for the mention, but because he truly writes skillfully and intelligently.

But yes, of course I felt a certain satisfaction knowing I somehow contributed to his enjoyment of that “empty” airport hour. I could almost feel what it’s like to put on headphones, lean back, and play Jarrett’s The Survivor’s Suite with no other agenda or side activity in life. The overly fast pace we live in often turns music into just one of many parallel activities—cooking, driving, working on a laptop, and so on—but it becomes a real delicacy and joy when we do absolutely nothing else. “The bustling airport around me fades away, the world slows down—there is time for everything,” wrote Dés in his text, which you can read HERE.

At the time when I had just started listening to contemporary jazz after going through the classics, Dave Douglas was one of my favorite musicians. I listened to many of his albums, including Charms of the Night Sky, which stood out for its specific chamber-like atmosphere – no drums, with the fantastic Guy Klucevsek on accordion, violinist Mark Feldman, and Greg Cohen on double bass. It wasn’t “just another Douglas album,” but also a personal discovery of a new musical world of chamber expression that doesn’t obey conventions or genres.

The first few times I listened to Garden of Silences, I immediately thought of that album. Not because I think Janinet plays like Feldman or Henriksen like Douglas – which is certainly not the case – but because it triggered a similar emotional response in me. Only today, just before writing the review, did I read the promotional text saying that the “dialogue among the four musicians was inspired by the instrumentation of Dave Douglas’s album “Charms Of The Night Sky.”

Another “emotional reference” for this album was the Tarkovsky Quartet, one of ECM’s outstanding chamber ensembles – François Couturier on piano, Anja Lechner on cello, Jean-Louis Matinier on accordion, and Jean-Marc Larché on soprano saxophone. Although the instrumentation is somewhat different, there is that chamber setting and the accordion as an important instrument, but above all that “feeling” the music evokes.

Of course, all of this is based on personal associations; and perhaps a recommendation for listeners who enjoy the above-mentioned bands. But it is important to say that violinist Clément Janinet is not a derivative musician, and his Garden of Silences has the strong potential to become a reference point for some other bands in the future. The same applies to Janinet’s very interesting body of work, where my attention was first drawn to his chamber ensemble La litanie des cimes, and later to Ornette Under the Repetitive Skies in a somewhat freer stylistic context.

On the current album, references are also made to “the legacy of Monteverdi, Buxtehude, and Dowland” – however, since I approach this album primarily from the perspective of a jazz and improvised music listener, I mention this more in an informational context. What I personally find most appealing in Janinet’s work is its highly distinctive and exciting, above all fluid character, and the way it blends jazz with chamber composition.

While Douglas is still grounded in jazz structures of themes and solos, and Tarkovsky in composition and arrangement, Clément Janinet excels in blending all these ingredients. Yes, there are „jazz moments“, composed sections, beautiful melodies, and delicate improvisations, but at no point can I clearly separate them while listening. From the very first bars of the compositions, there is a sense of “flowing over” and an imperceptible interweaving of these ideas and elements.

Instruments enter and leave the soundscape; they swell and fade; improvisations sound like the most carefully written melodies, and the sense of tempo and rhythm is highly elusive. There is no “anchor” provided by a conventional rhythm section, nor any attempt to compensate for its absence through the “reassignment” of individual instruments.

In such a constellation, there are no star players. Or rather, they are all stars. Even Arve Henriksen, whose trumpet sound can easily be recognized in a blindfold test, doesn’t „steal the show“ even when he is in the foreground and soloing. This is certainly supported by the shared sensibility of Janinet and Henriksen, but also by the bandleader’s ability to play with and maneuver the quartet’s dynamics.

Robert Lucaciu appears on my playlist for the third time this year – in a duo formation with Evi Filippou, and in Daniel Erdmann’s Thérapie de Couple, and now with Janinet – witnessing in real time the rise of a major new name in European jazz. I had not listened to Ambre Vuillermoz before, but her contribution is no less than impressive.

Clément Janinet is entering his most creative years, and it feels like each new album will be a masterpiece. I am looking forward to everything he will release in the future.

This week has been very intense for me. I haven’t written here before about my day job—the one I actually make a living from—at a small but very successful PR agency where I work with my life and business partner Monika. Just yesterday, I had on-site duties related to the Science Picnic (an event aimed at young audiences and children), an art performance/project, and the Belgrade International Architecture Week, alongside ongoing campaigns for the Museum of Contemporary Art of Vojvodina and a couple of film festivals and programs.

Since I live in the town of Pančevo (20 km from Belgrade) and drive to all these events, I sometimes spend couple of hours a day in the car—or even longer. During that time, I actively listen to music on Tidal, usually full albums from start to finish (unless they bore me, in which case I stop after a few tracks). Maybe this week I didn’t have the time to think deeply about complex jazz topics and dilemmas, but my listening certainly didn’t suffer.

New Listens

I mentioned that I met Icelandic double bassist Freysteinn at the jazzahead! trade fair, where we connected via email and messages. He sent me his material, I hit play, and the music immediately sounded good. There was a guitar in the foreground, acting as the lead solo instrument, which I really liked. I had no idea who was playing, but I simply let myself go with it. It felt like it wasn’t a “typical jazz guitar,” but rather something with a nice balance between melody and something a bit edgy in a New York Downtown way; the same could be said for the album Thoughts as a whole, which sits comfortably within a “modern creative” vocabulary while allowing for occasional departures off the rails.

Only after listening did I check the list of musicians and see that the guitar was played by Hilmar Jensson. Suddenly everything clicked—more than a couple of decades ago I really enjoyed listening to him in Jim Black’s band AlasNoAxis, as well as in his own group Tyft. I did a bit of Googling and found that I had written a review of the 2009 album Smell the Difference for a pop culture magazine. In the meantime, I had somewhat forgotten about him, so it’s great to reconnect in a new context. And I’m glad I’ve discovered Freysteinn’s body of work.

I mostly listened to Freysteinn on CD, while my favorite driving album was the new release by the Jeff Parker ETA IVtet, Happy Today, which consists of two long live pieces. This album has a really strong sense of drive, which—unsurprisingly—works very well for listening while on the road. I especially enjoyed Anna Butterss on double bass, as well as the way the music evolves through subtle variations and nuances that gradually lead into extended climaxes.

In this context, the album Misečina bila / White Moonlight by Croatian singer and composer Tamara Obrovac and her Transhistria Ensemble stands apart stylistically, though certainly not in terms of quality. This is jazz infused with elements of Istrian and Mediterranean folk music, with vocals at the forefront, supported by top-tier, fluid, melodic playing from the band: Uroš Rakovec (guitar, mandola), Fausto Beccalossi (accordion), Žiga Golob (double bass), and Krunoslav Levačić (drums). While all are outstanding individual musicians, what impresses most is how they breathe as one and move within a shared musical idea, placing the songs themselves on a pedestal.

I’ve been aware of Tamara’s excellent work in this musical space for a couple of decades now, but perhaps the right moment—or maybe just a certain listening maturity—was needed for me to fully appreciate her music. In my recent piece on AI versus human curation, I touched on how algorithms tend to push us toward the same or very similar music, whereas it’s a genuinely human and exciting experience to search for something different and step outside our own self-imposed, well-trodden paths.

I’ll also add an album that isn’t from 2026, but which I’ve only now properly taken the time to listen to. The Austrian trio HAEZZ will be performing at Studio 6 of Radio Belgrade on June 10, and I’m very happy we managed to organize their concert with the support of the Austrian Cultural Forum in Belgrade. I first saw them at the 3 Tages Jazz festival in Saalfelden, and when the opportunity arose, I was glad to take it. The band consists of Martin Eberle (trumpet), Štěpán Flagar (tenor saxophone), and Tobias Vedovelli (bass), and their music fits into the broad category of “contemporary jazz”—rooted in tradition, yet playful through the deep mutual understanding among the band members. So far, they have one self-titled album from 2024. which captures their live energy very well.

Social Media Highlight of the Week

Like most people, I scroll endlessly through social media. The algorithm feeds me a lot of garbage, but also quite a few things that genuinely interest me. That’s how I came across the beautiful concert series Into the Strings Home Session, in which brothers Theo and Valentin Ceccaldi—fantastic musicians I’m very fond of—invite other musicians to their home and record session videos in an intimate setting. In the latest episode, their guest was Thomas de Pourquery, another musician I absolutely love, so it had to be great. His style is very entertaining—a combination of 1980s-style pop vocals and serious jazz chops. At first glance, it might seem like he’s fooling around, but the music he performs is real: deeply emotional and expressive, and his voice is pure love.

Phronesis, as one of the early and most significant bands on the label, performed in Belgrade with their then very current album Alive. I received various CDs from the label’s early days.

Later, Tim stepped away from the record business, while Dave continued along a path of growing success. The Edition catalogue gradually began to bring together increasingly prominent names, combining artists like Potter, Holland, and McCaslin with emerging younger voices.

In this conversation, Dave Stapleton talks about the key milestones in the life of Edition Records, his business philosophy, the challenges facing jazz publishing today, as well as his own creative work—let us not forget that Dave is first and foremost a musician, who only recently released an album titled Quiet Fire under his own name.

Do we take what we call “music” for granted? Even if we leave behind the world of rhythm, melody, and harmony and venture, for example, into the realm of textures and walls of sound—into free improvisation—we still tend to assume some kind of framework of rules and listening expectations.

In one of my earlier texts, I wondered how “free” free jazz really is, and how much it is simply a set of improvisational conventions that keep reproducing themselves over and over again.

Can we ask the same question about music itself? Is there a meaningful, exciting, and coherent set of sounds and sonic relationships that exists not only beyond conventional notation systems, but also beyond what we consider the basis of our usual emotional and intellectual experiences tied to music—or its social and psychological role? If such a thing exists, can it take the place that “music” holds in our lives?

Cičići

A few weeks ago, I interviewed trumpeter Nikola Vuković for Jazzin.rs, who is part of the trio Cičići. The band performed on May 20 at the opening of the Ring Ring Festival in Belgrade. Since Nikola is highly experimental in his approach to the trumpet—and his sonic practice involves extensions of the instrument, tubes, balloons, and so on—we also touched on the performative aspect of his playing. That is, the inseparability of our perception of what comes out of his instrument as “sound” or “music,” and what we, as viewers, see happening on stage and around it. If I were to hear that sound only through speakers, it certainly wouldn’t be as interesting as everything I see unfolding in the concert setting.

But is this a “concert,” or rather a “performance”? Or something else entirely? If we insist on definitions, I would arrive at a broader category—“art”—which encompasses sound, music, performance, theater, and, if you like, psychology or philosophy. And that’s great.

In the opening segment of the concert, Nikola Vuković has a prepared trumpet on a table on stage—though due to the height of the stage, I couldn’t quite see in what exact ways it was altered. His “main trumpet” is connected by a tube to a pocket trumpet placed on a chair in front of the audience, in the first rows. The sound heard at the beginning of the concert resembles a mobile phone ringing somewhere in the back rows.

When saxophonists Luka Zabric and Jure Boršič join him, continuing to sculpt sonic vignettes at the edges of what we recognize as the sound of a saxophone (and wind instruments in general), the way we experience the rest of the concert can vary significantly. Of course, if you’ve been attending experimental music concerts for a long time, none of this may sound particularly new or surprising. Yet it still raises the same questions: can we imagine that “music” might be something entirely different from how we perceive it today? Can it be “reinvented” from scratch, based on entirely different postulates, relationships between sounds and frequencies?

In the first segment of the concert, Cičići establish precisely such “relations of frequencies,” which sound like a non-human language—a code perhaps used by birds, or by extraterrestrials from another galaxy. The gradual build-up toward louder sound brings us back to human settings, while the concert’s ending—where we hear more conventionally melodic segments—may be entirely unnecessary within this concept. Or perhaps it “saved the concert,” if you’re not particularly inclined toward philosophical reflections on sound when you’re expecting an emotional escape from everyday life?

Fred Frith

With Fred Frith, we encounter a kind of “total music.” As a musician who passed through the Rock in Opposition aesthetic rooted in prog rock, then through experimental band work in the 1980s and later numerous solo and duo combinations, his solo performances bring together both the estrangement of music in its conventional sense and the infusion of musicality into what might otherwise be considered sonic experiment.

Fred Frith previously performed at Ring Ring in 2005, in what became a cult performance. Many remember that he had a bowl filled with some kind of grains, which he would place on a guitar laid across his lap. He would then pour the grains from one hand to the other, over the guitar, the bowl, and so on. What’s characteristic of Frith is that he never strays too far from “music”—he always manages to bring these sonic fragments back into something familiar, something close to the emotional register we enjoy experiencing at concerts. That was the case then as well, no matter how innovative everything I saw and experienced felt at the time.

Twenty-one years and several hundred concerts later, my ears have grown accustomed to all sorts of things. As much as I was looking forward to seeing Fred Frith again in Belgrade, I also suspected it might not feel as exciting as the first time. In conversations after the concert with people who had also attended the previous one, we came to the conclusion that Frith structured his performance almost identically. He opened furiously, with his recognizable guitar bursts and vignettes that made us all fall in love with him, continued with various objects adding rhythmic or noise elements, returned to melodic segments, and once again brought out his bowl of grains. Toward the end, there were also some playful vocal passages—almost like a male counterpart to Joëlle Léandre.

This time, it all sounded far more melodic, lively, and playful to me than it did 21 years ago. A fellow journalist I spoke with after the concert had a completely different impression. I believe we were both right—and it’s fascinating how the “same” concert can evoke entirely different emotional and intellectual responses, even among experienced listeners well attuned to avant-garde music. My own focus shifted from the intellectual to the emotional during the performance; still, I have to say that I take great joy in exchanging impressions afterward, in that diversity of reactions to what we’ve all seen and heard.

Jasna Jovićević & Predrag Okiljević

On the second evening of Ring Ring, I attended a concert that was not only clearly music-oriented, but undeniably “jazz.” Yet at a mainstream festival, it would most likely have been labeled as an “off” or “late-night” program. Once again, context shapes perception—you can watch the same concert after a set of oddballs squeaking and screeching on their instruments, or after a traditional big band playing swing.

At Ring Ring, the context framed this as gentle music—two musicians who fully command the language of jazz composition, arrangement, and free improvisation. Over the past fifteen years, Jasna Jovićević has launched a number of compelling projects, from the chamber jazz-oriented quintet Quinary to classic free and improvised trios, so it didn’t surprise me to see her explore this atypical sax duo format. Predrag Okiljević has previously shone in bands like Dragon’s Fuel and Palm (in the spirit of the British neo post-jazz-rock school), as well as in various trio formations with a clearer free jazz orientation.

When I first heard they had formed a duo, I assumed it would be a brutal free improvisation project. As much as I enjoy both of them as highly engaging improvisers, I was equally glad to be proven wrong—this is music grounded in composition (and in written scores, placed on music stands).

At moments, I could hear echoes of The Tiptons or John Lurie—points of reference within my own listening framework. What I found particularly interesting was how certain conventions of well-known jazz quartets were translated into this micro-format, yet still sounded rich and full. At the same time, Jovićević and Okiljević have distinct improvisational styles—Jasna often shines in the higher registers on soprano and alto, while Predrag on tenor acts as a kind of counterweight and balance.

In that sense, their collaboration is a perfect match—both share that refined sense that even the wildest free improvisation should retain something melodic; that in the subtle flow between composition and improvisation, a certain kind of magic is born.

Although I had been familiar with the work of accordionist Jovan Pavlović for quite some time, our first direct exchange came last year, when he performed in Serbia on several occasions: first in a solo setting with special guest Bojan Z on piano, and later, toward the end of the year, with the Big Band RTS. We agreed to do a long-form interview tracing his personal and musical journey—from Serbia to Norway, where he now lives and works—with a particular focus on his major concert with the national jazz orchestra.

Earlier this year, when the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra released Spiti/Home, I noticed that Pavlović appears on the album as well. As a whole, the record departs from what we have come to expect from TJO in recent years, yet it is equally important to note that this Norwegian ensemble has consistently pushed the boundaries of its expression. Here, their orchestration intersects with the musical traditions of various European regions, from Greece to the far north of the continent, with a leading role taken by vocalist Marianna Sangita Angeletaki Røe.

Since I was pleased with the interview I did for Jazzin.rs, I thought it would be worthwhile to prepare an updated English version for Eurojazzist. I have slightly reorganized the material, omitted certain sections, and added several new questions focusing on Pavlović’s work with the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, with whom he first performed more than a decade ago.

In Serbia, during the 1980s and 1990s, the accordion was mostly associated with folk music, or with classical music within the educational system. Where did your interest in jazz accordion come from?

Honestly, I don’t know. I was fascinated by the very idea that someone could improvise at all. Until I was 18 and moved to Norway, I didn’t even know what the word improvisation meant. Now I see that many mature musicians still don’t understand how long that process of learning and exploration is, before you can reach a point where you feel free and able to improvise on stage.

I went to Norway to study classical music. If you go to Wikipedia, you’ll see it says I’m a jazz musician, but that’s not true. I’ve never felt like a jazz musician, even though I mainly collaborate with musicians rooted in jazz. I’m a musician who plays rhythmic music and is comfortable with improvisation. In fact, improvisation definitely makes up more than 50% of what a listener hears at my concerts or on my albums.

After Serbia in the 1990s under sanctions, how big was the cultural shock of moving to Norway? Were your first steps difficult, and how much did what you found at the conservatory differ from your expectations and prior knowledge?

During the worst period of inflation, war, and embargo, I realized I wouldn’t go to Russia as I had originally planned, and with great support from my parents I went to Norway to study classical accordion. Before that, I had passed the entrance exam, and everything was set for me to become a Scandinavian master of classical accordion. And then something happened that completely changed the course of my musical path. I was assigned an older-generation professor who hadn’t followed developments in classical accordion since 1978. Even though he knew I had been playing a very demanding classical repertoire, he asked me to start playing polkas. That was a big shock for me, but at the same time I didn’t dare complain. It would have come across as, “look at him, he just arrived and he’s already complaining.”

Slowly I started slipping into depression and seeing my future as completely uncertain. In one of those moments, in the conservatory cafeteria, I met Mats Eilertsen, who explained that he was studying jazz at the same conservatory, but that their classes took place across the street. At that moment I had no idea that someone could even study jazz. Completely confused, I agreed to go with him to a jam session they were having in their building.

I was in huge shock when I saw how many young people played jazz so well. Mats, who later became one of my best friends here, encouraged me to start listening to jazz. And once I learned at least one standard, I could play with him. That’s when I learned “Billie’s Bounce” and started to “improvise” a little for the first time.

In the meantime, I met Stian Carstensen, one of the best multi-instrumentalists of today, who plays the accordion incredibly well. Not only that, but he plays Romanian and Bulgarian folk music just as well as jazz. He inspired me a lot, and from then on I seriously began studying both jazz and folk music at the same time.

Which jazz accordionists inspired you?

Everything I know about jazz and all the music I started listening to began in Norway. Yes, that’s relatively late, but from then on I was immersed in music all day, and sometimes all night. I listened to Art Van Damme and Frank Marocco, but I soon realized that if I wanted to develop my own style, I had to detach myself from accordionists.

A common problem with accordionists who want to deal with improvisation/jazz is that they often listen only to other accordionists. That’s where limitations arise, and it’s easy to recognize who hasn’t gone deep into the essence of the music, but has only copied something that’s already been played. I really listened to all kinds of things, but probably the most to Keith Jarrett, whom I still listen to often. Of course, I went through the entire history of jazz, but also the folk music of various cultures. Ethno music or ethno fusion still interests me today, of course when it’s done well and thoughtfully.

In the 1990s, Norway was home to some of the most innovative jazz musicians of the time, quite far removed from what we know as the bop tradition. In 1997, Nils Petter Molvær released “Khmer,” Bugge Wesseltoft released “New Conception of Jazz,” Sidsel Endresen entered her more experimental phase, and so on. How did you perceive these musicians and tendencies on the local jazz scene?

To be honest, at the time they were too avant-garde for me. Of course, now I understand how innovative they were and still are. If you live in Norway and collaborate with Norwegian musicians, it’s natural that over time you absorb parts of their aesthetic. That’s why I think my life here has shaped my musical expression just as much as growing up in Yugoslavia. I really like that sense of musical freedom that musicians in Norway have, partly because there is significant investment in culture, but also because they’re not afraid to try something new, even though they know it’s not 100% certain it will be accepted as a success.

Given that in the late 1990s and early 2000s “world music” as a genre and concept was on the rise, was there an expectation for you to fit into certain patterns associated with “an accordionist from Serbia”?

Ah, well, I did play for a while with trumpeter Marko Marković. I also played with Džambo Aguševi from Macedonia. It was nice—both of them are great players. Brass music is popular here because of Emir Kusturica and Goran Bregović, although much less so today than before. I never followed those patterns; I always tried to add something of my own, no matter what music I was playing. That’s something that’s followed me all these years—I didn’t want to play like others, regardless of whether that was the right decision or not.

What was your personal relationship to what was a trend in global music based on ethno motifs, in the context of your own thinking about jazz?

Everything that becomes a major trend in music at one moment eventually becomes something people grow tired of. The problem, of course, arises when everyone wants to build a musical career by playing something that has already been played, but is very popular at that moment. In the end, that turns out to be a completely wrong move and has a very negative impact on the development of music.

Think of Buena Vista Social Club. They were so popular, they created such a boom that afterward many “musicians” with any kind of ethnic background from Central and South America started, with their newly formed bands, playing covers of their music. A similar thing happens with trumpeters—they play the same or very similar repertoire that audiences here are already quite saturated with.

My goal all along was not to be a copy, and everything else is a process of going into the unknown and seeing what happens.

It wasn’t until 2017 that you released your first album under your own name. A bit later came “Life on Accordion.” Did you simply not have time due to numerous engagements, or did you consciously wait for your personal artistic voice to “mature” over about twenty years of a very active recording and performing career?

With my trio, I released two albums: Refleks and Bonfire. Refleks was with a classical octet from northern Norway, and Bonfire was with Ahmad Al Khatib, one of the most renowned Arab oud players.

Yes, for a long time I didn’t dare release anything under my own name. I think the real turning point came when I created the solo album/project Life on Accordion, with which I toured worldwide over the past two years. I gave lectures on improvisation at universities in Buenos Aires and Chile, played at many jazz festivals across Europe. I started performing at accordion festivals and suddenly re-entered the accordion world after so many years of “absence.”

We come to your work with the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra. The immediate occasion is this year’s album by Trondheim Jazz Orchestra & Marianna Sangita Angeletaki Røe titled Spiti/Home, on which you also play. But that wasn’t your first album with TJO—you had previously played on Marius Neset’s project documented on the 2014 album “Lion”?

This project was unique—although all TJO projects are unique—in that Marius’s music is among the most rhythmically complex music I’ve ever heard. Marius studied in Copenhagen, which is why it sounds so “non-Norwegian.”

What were the expectations of you as an accordionist in this context?

The accordion in this project was just as important as all the other instruments. Marius loves the accordion, and I was very honored when he chose me to play with the orchestra.

When the project gained attention, it became very popular, but I remember the first rehearsal when he brought in the scores—we literally couldn’t put it together. It was so complex, demanding, and difficult that we all looked at each other and realized we had a lot of practicing to do. I practiced for days at a slow tempo just to understand what was going on. After a year, we released the album “Lion,” recorded in Copenhagen, which won a „Norwegian Grammy“.

For me, it was an incredible experience performing this project at Ronnie Scott’s in London, as well as at the North Sea Jazz Festival and at nearly all major festivals across Europe.

In what way did TJO expand your musical horizons?

When you work with top-level musicians and find yourself far outside your comfort zone at the beginning of a collaboration, it changes your mindset. You’re forced to give your best and, as an equal member of such a large orchestra, do everything in your power to make it sound as good as possible, while constantly thinking about how important it is for you, as a soloist, to leave your personal signature, both live and on the album.

On the current album, Marianna Sangita is in focus, but you are also part of the ensemble, which performed at jazzahead! back in 2024 and then toured internationally for two years before the album itself. How did the work on this project unfold?

Marianna has a background in Greek folk music, but also in bands such as Broen and Gurls. Still, in this project the main focus is on melodies with a strong folk element. I love folk music, but I no longer like playing it in a traditional way; instead, I prefer a way that allows me, as a performer, to take the music somewhere else, somewhere unexpected.

What was particularly interesting to you in this context, not only regarding your role but also more broadly in terms of compositions and arrangements?

The process of rehearsing the compositions itself was interesting, probably because we all come from quite different musical backgrounds. We worked a lot together on the arrangements, as a band. We tried out different ideas and searched for a common language for the whole ensemble. That’s not easy at all—it requires a great deal of dedication and openness to collaboration. Throughout, I tried to find a middle ground, where I would constantly add a kind of ethno “flavor,” but just enough for it to be felt. My main idea was that, in the sections where I improvise, I move away from tradition, but in a way that still sounds natural and interesting.

Last year you performed in Belgrade with Bojan Z, as well as with the Big Band RTS – the national jazz orchestra of Serbia. Do you have a desire to connect more with the Serbian jazz scene, or with musicians from this region in the diaspora?

By nature, I’m very curious and interested in many things, but perhaps most of all in what I don’t know. I learned a lot from Bojan, because in his mindset he’s similar to me—always learning and always wanting to try something new. Of course, I’d like to play with anyone who is good at what they do. There are many talented musicians here, but there are also many musicians from our region living abroad whom people in Serbia haven’t even heard of.

It’s already certain that I’ll be recording an album with Romanian multi-instrumentalist and mega cimbalom star Marius Preda. We’ll probably invite some guests, and it’s not impossible that Bojan will be one of them.